


And Skyhold

by visforvictory



Series: Small Things that Bloom [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cawke, F/M, at least to one particular ex-templar, cullen is a giant astronomy nerd, eventually, god my summaries are awful, hawke is a terror even in skyhold, healingcawke, maaaybe, no seriously, no seriously there is a happy ending i swear. i can write stuff that's not angsty. really, the way of cawke always and forever, this half is actually not that angsty compared to in kirkwall, varric writes more cullenfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:18:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6842326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visforvictory/pseuds/visforvictory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Andraste's ass,' Varric said, when he saw what the erstwhile Knight-Commander had dragged in with him. 'Where on earth did you find that?'</p><p>___</p><p>Continuing the events of 'In Kirkwall', which should probably be read first (esp if you really like UST and angst):</p><p>The state of cranky, awkward Commander Cullen's virginity is the Inquisition's most highly-debated topical affair. </p><p>Little do they know Cullen’s hair is full of secrets, and the Champion of Kirkwall is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. inkstains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eris/gifts).



> good lord my summaries are terrible. anyway.  
> ch3 = yup  
> everything else -- at cullen's expense.  
> :D
> 
> but there is a happy ending, as promised.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen stared at it, at his name, written on it. He knew that handwriting, messy and ink-smeared. His heart began to pound in his chest. He swallowed.

The Knight-Commander picked up his quill. He scribbled a few words on the parchment stretched out before him on his desk. He scratched out the words furiously, put his quill down, picked it up again. Finally he gave up and jammed the quill back in its holder. So many missives to sift through, so many mindless phrases to pen. A tide of paper rising to drown him under white waves.

He had been thinking of her for a week now, wherever she’d gone. He had asked the Guard-Captain if she knew anything about Hawke's disappearance, and her shock had been as tangible as his own. He missed her, Maker be damned. He ached for her. His very soul yearned for her. He longed for her, and he loved her. He was not afraid to admit that anymore. He would have told her that a million times, if she hadn't vanished.

He remembered, as he often had, her body pressed up against his, her mouth on his, her hand sliding lower. Only this time he was holding her close, not letting go, matching his hands to hers, turning her under and pressing her down. Taking her to his bed. And then at last...

‘Knight-Commander!’ came a nervous voice, and Cullen sat bolt-upright in his chair all of a sudden with his face red and his breath heavy, and tried desperately to look as though he hadn’t just had the filthiest thought pass through his head.

‘Yes?’ he barked, hoping his voice sounded less flustered than he felt. He rubbed at his cheeks in an attempt to make the heat go away, before realising he was probably making it worse.

‘Cullen, it’s Varric,’ said a different, very familiar voice. ‘Here, let me in.’

‘Come in,’ he said, unsettled by Varric’s sudden arrival. They had never had much cause to talk.

 _Hawke_.

Varric entered after the guard outside opened the door for him. ‘Cullen.’

‘What brings you here, Varric? Have you heard... from Hawke?’

The dwarf looked uncomfortable. Anxiety knotted in Cullen’s breast. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘She’s... gone,’ he said. He reached into a pocket and drew out a sealed envelope. ‘She left this for you.’

Cullen took it, too shocked to think.

 _Cullen,_ it read _, It's been fun. Don't wait for me._

_H._

He almost dropped the paper. Shook his head.  _No_. Not this. Not now.

He read the letter again, though the words seemed to be more blurry than he remembered, and his chest was so tight he could hardly breathe. All his nerves seemed ablaze with pain.

‘Why?’ was the only word he could muster. 'Where is she?'

Varric looked miserable. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

Cullen put the letter down and pressed his hand to his head. ‘She didn’t say where she was going?’

‘I hoped she might have told you,’ Varric said. ‘Nobody knows anything.’ He fidgeted.

‘But... Why?’

Varric sighed. 'You're going to have to figure out your own reasons for that, Knight-Commander.' He looked at Cullen, who sat as though frozen, and sighed again. 

'Maybe, just maybe, she didn't want anyone else she cared about getting hurt on her account,' the dwarf added. 'I did  _not_ say that.'

Cullen opened his mouth. No words came out.

‘I’m really sorry,’ the dwarf said quietly. ‘If you need to talk... You know where I am. Always time for a game of Wicked Grace.’

He left, leaving Cullen turning the paper over and over in his hands, searching Hawke’s bold handwriting for hidden meaning where there was none.

 

**SEEKER**

 

Days passed into weeks, then into months.

The Gallows had changed since the days of Meredith Stannard. Children played in the courtyard under the watchful, gentle eyes of the enchanters who had remained, templars standing by like polite shadows. The fear and tension was mostly gone from those who had stayed in the Kirkwall Circle. It was not enough. He should be doing more. There were so many who had fled.

Things in Kirkwall gradually simmered into a semblance of peace, though it never seemed far from boiling over. Cullen heard various snippets about Hawke's companions, though very little about Hawke herself. She had been seen near Lothering, asking about her grandparents. She had become a Warden. She was cat-farming in Antiva. She had been seen with Sebastian Vael, the exile. No matter how often he heard that last rumour, Cullen could barely stop himself from flinching everytime it surfaced again.

The only thing keeping him sane was Varric, telling him he'd heard she was here, or there, or she'd sent a terse response saying 'Anderfels' or 'Ass-end of Orlais'. Then even those stopped. 'Alive.' 'Still alive.' 'Here.'

Sometimes the dwarf would answer Cullen's barely-voiced, stammering, half-spoken questions. No, he hadn't heard of her being with anyone. It humilated Cullen to ask. He continued to do so anyway. He wrote to her, business-like missives that hid all his pain. Always the last sentence. Barely a query.  _Kirkwall needs you. The city struggles to rebuild without you._  The last statement that he could never bring himself to write.  _I need you._

She hadn't needed him. She had left him.

Slowly, the flames of Meredith, Orsino and Anders's swathes of destruction simmered and settled into ash, and normalcy returned to the city. The Order remained uneasy and uncertain. Cullen received conflicting orders from different superiors, pushing him this way and that, speaking of Kirkwall as an example for change -- to collar the mages even more than before, to cull their numbers once again.

Though he refused all these commands, the missives filled Cullen with a heavy sense of dread. He remembered the words he had spoken to Meredith, when he had stopped her from murdering mages in cold blood.

 _I believe that's what being a templar is all about._  The phrase haunted him.

The Order had no interest in soft control, by the sounds of it. Cullen had been warned that failure to comply would lead to removal from his position. He had been trying to mend the rift between the mages and templars of Kirkwall, leading his subordinates to a more positive frame of mind -- and the Order planned to unravel all his efforts.

He stood in the courtyard of the Gallows, where he had finally mustered the will to make a stance. Meredith’s remains still knelt in the centre of the courtyard, red lyrium budding in the cracked floorstones that surrounded her, testament to the madness that had taken the city. He had tried to have her body removed for a decent burial, but it was as though her withered corpse smouldered with a white-hot heat, and weighed more than a team of oxen could pull. After they tried that, Cullen gave orders that she was to be left untouched. Let her serve as a ghastly monument to hubris and paranoia.

He remembered her sitting at her desk, seven years ago, as the dipping sun bathed her in light, as she promoted him to Knight-Captain. Whatever she had become, however twisted her motives, she had once given him a chance at hope, and for that he could never hate her memory. Meredith Stannard had believed in something pure once. In something far beyond herself. In him, even, when there had been no-one else.

 _For the good of Kirkwall._  Her words.  _To protect the innocent._

Unbidden, a memory came to his mind. Hawke, saying,  _I just couldn’t ever walk away._ Eyes bright and blue like Meredith’s, but warm. Full of life. When she looked at him--

He pushed the thought from his mind. He had spent countless hours remembering. He didn't believe her letter. He couldn't. Instead he thought of Kirkwall and the city's thin veneer of stability, the war that was building outside.

A billion possibilities flitted through his thoughts. Start a rebellion -- another rebellion. Wait for the Order to storm down and invoke a Right of Annulment, get himself executed for insubordination and conspiracy. He could see it happening.

 _All mages are bad._ He had said that himself once, to Hawke's Warden cousin, of all people. Guilt had kept Cullen locked within himself for years, and only Hawke, casually daring, had been able to break through the wall of shame he hid behind.

 _Mages are people._ The Warden had first shown him that, when she had saved his life despite all his calls for retribution. She had shown him, of all things, mercy. She had placed faith in the broken morass of hate he had become.

Hawke had shown him the rest of it. Human, imperfect, real.

 _If I stay here, I'll fail anyway._  Yet he stayed, because he was needed, after all. Because what was left of the Gallows believed in him.

Sometimes he stood by the docks, looking up at Hawke’s statue. It looked absolutely nothing like her. He remembered Hawke saying she had refused to stand still long enough for the sculptor to capture her likeness, and had been suitably punished for it. But there was something soothing about it, he thought, that even though the Champion was long gone, her presence lingered.

He walked the lonely paths of the Wounded Coast and wondered where Hawke truly was, and when--or if--her next letter would ever come.

 

***

 

Late in fall, Cullen received a visit from Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.

'Knight-Commander,' she said. There was a flicker of surprise on her face when she first saw him. He was used to it, the look he got when someone was puzzled by his lack of years.

'Not for long, probably,' Cullen said, shrugging. There had been talk of replacing the so-called Knight-Commander of Kirkwall for quite some time now. He had ruffled far too many feathers, refused all their injunctions, put their missives, rank with zealotry, in the fire. In truth, his position had never quite been ratified. The templars who stayed were the ones who had remained loyal to the Order’s tenets, and to him, despite his questionable status. He stayed for them, and for the handful of mages who had nothing else but the fear of a broken city.

'You should ask me for favours now, if that's why you're here.'

'I came to ask you if you were interested in serving a new cause,' Cassandra said. 'Surely you have heard of the Blight that looms over us. You are from Ferelden, after all. I offer you a position with myself and Sister Nightingale. You would be Commander of our military operations.'

‘I can’t leave,’ Cullen said, shaking his head. ‘People here rely upon me.’

‘Knight-Commander. The Circle is done. The Gallows is done. How much longer can you remain here? The Chantry wants loyalists, not unknown quantities. Not you.’

Cullen was silent for a while. All the things he hadn't wanted to admit to himself for the last stretch of time.

He bowed his head. It was true. ‘I’ll come, if you allow my charges to follow.’

‘I will help you find a place for the few that remain here,’ the Seeker said. ‘Or if they wish to come with us, I will make space for them.’

'Why would you ask me, Seeker? You must have heard of the mess Kirkwall became. I’m surprised anyone would come here looking for aid.' He almost laughed as he said it.

Her gaze was clear and level.

'I heard your name when the Chantry began to investigate, Knight-Commander. I need someone who can lead our forces with righteousness -- but also mercy. I need someone who wants to stop a war.'

 _Mercy._  The word stunned Cullen into silence. He had sought it so long that he almost didn't understand she was directing it at him. She thought him merciful.

The things he had said after the events at Kinloch Hold. The look on the Warden's face. The thing he had become.  _It's me, Cullen. I thought we were friends._  His words, echoing in the cage.  _They must die. It is the only way._ The long years of regret and hate and fear.

The light rose in the Seeker's eyes. She offered him a hand.

To his surprise, he found himself taking it.

Sometimes we stare into the maw of the abyss. We leap. And sometimes we dream, perhaps, of flying.

 

**IN MEMORIAM**

 

'You'll need something else,' Varric pointed out. 'You can't just go around wearing Knight-Commander whoop-de-fucking-doo armour. You look like a baby Meredith.'

Cullen sighed. He had been avoiding the chore of finding new gear.

'You must have something stashed away somewhere,' he said. 'Hawke--' he still couldn't quite say her name properly without stammering and blushing like a fool -- 'Hawke said you were sitting on a veritable mountain of treasure.'

'Hawke says entirely too much,' Varric remarked. 'I'll see what I can dredge up. In the meantime, haul your ass down to the market and see what you can find.'

Cullen sighed again.

He wandered the markets of Hightown aimlessly, not really looking, despite Varric's prior exhortations. He hated material trappings, had been so used to the rigid dress code of the Order that he had no idea how he should be dressing.

He almost wished he had asked Varric to come with him, then decided he didn't really trust the dwarf not to choose something purely for his own amusement value.

As he was about to give up and abandon the entire pathetic affair, a glimpse of feathers made him stop. It was a cloak, hanging from the side of a stall, dark and incarnadine. Something made Cullen reach out to it. Soft, like running his hand through her hair. Like something that might one day fly home.

'Andraste's ass,' Varric said, when he saw what the erstwhile Knight-Commander had dragged in with him. 'Where on earth did you find that?'

'Market,' Cullen muttered, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

The dwarf cocked his head to one side, studying the cloak. 'You know, it's not... bad. It kind of suits you.'

'In a good way?'

Varric shrugged. 'It just suits you. You know, puffed-up and overbearing.'

Cullen laughed suddenly.

'Feathers,' Varric mused. 'Huh.' He eyed Cullen. 'I don't need to ask, do I?'

'Ferelden's cold at this time of year,' Cullen said, and left it at that.

 

**PIECES**

 

Cullen gradually settled into his role as Commander of the Inquisition. It felt odd at first, dropping the first half of his old title. It had been a part of his life for longer than he could remember. Did he miss it? At first he didn't know.

One particularly tiring training session had him thinking of Kirkwall again, thinking of his recruits there, all the time he'd spent trying to make them more worthy templars. Templars who could think of their charges as human. Wondering if he should have stayed at the Gallows. The longer he spent away from those days, the less he remembered. He was remembering what it was to be a man again. Not a templar.

Though the nightmares still plagued him, he had his memories, new dreams he had made with... her, finally understanding his touch could bring pleasure, not pain. No, not dreams. A reality. He no longer screamed. A couple gasps as he woke, and then he would take himself back in time, to Hawke's last days in Kirkwall, something blossoming between them.

Soon, he thought. He would break the lyrium chain. He could choose.

Cassandra asked him if he knew where Hawke was. He could only answer what he knew, which was nothing. Her scrutiny lasted longer than he liked. He wondered what Varric had told her. To the Order and the Chantry he had said only that she had supported the Order, had worked with him in a professional capacity, stopped the city from tearing itself apart. He did not mention her whispering his name, under him, around him, over his desk in the Gallows. He hadn't told anyone how far his relationship with the Champion of Kirkwall had gone. He couldn’t even say, himself, what it had been.

All Varric had said for the last couple of months was that he had absolutely no idea where Hawke was now, and that he hadn't heard from her at all.

 _But as far as I know, she hasn't been seen with anyone else_.

Cullen had begun to suspect Varric said that line every time just to see his ears burn.

Had Hawke told Varric everything about them? About... He had no idea. He felt the burning rise in his cheeks. Maker, no-one was there to mock him, and still he blushed like a boy. He rubbed the stubble on his face, pulled the feathers closer around his chin. Sometimes the extravagance of his cloak embarrassed him, as well as what else Varric had decided was suitable for the Commander.

And for the love of the Maker, that damnable helm.

He had walked into the war room one day to find Josephine Montilyet holding the lion-shaped  _thing_ , a large beam on her face. Leliana and Cassandra had nodded. Far too seriously. But the hopeful look of pride in Josephine's eye... He'd wanted to kick the helm across the room. He  _couldn't._  So there it sat, on his desk.

Cullen sighed and trudged back up the stairs, the wind whistling in his ears.

When he reached his chambers, it was to find a rather large package in front of his desk. It looked a little like a table, wrapped in heaps of cloth. Cullen stared at it, at his name, written on it. He knew that handwriting, messy and ink-smeared. His heart began to pound in his chest. He swallowed.

It was definitely table-shaped. He frowned. Hawke had sent him a  _table?_  After not answering any of the messages he'd left with Varric for their dead drops? After two months of absolute silence? It was infuriating. He would have been furious if he hadn't been almost paralysed by a mix of desire, frustration and anticipation.

He tore the padding off.

It was a table made of finely carved stone, a chessboard engraved into the surface, a box of pieces tied down.

There was a note tacked to the board with gum, folded in two. On the outside, a horridly-drawn picture of what he thought might have been a bird, if one squinted. He opened the fold of paper. Bold scrawl of words. Inkstains.

 _Be seeing you_ , it said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire series was originally just meant to be all of Skyhold mocking Cullen for being a (so they think) virgin, and then it spiralled completely out of my control and became an actual... story. At least, I hope so. Probably because I was trying to figure out who could possibly have deflowered the awkward, antisocial, PTSD Knight-Captain while he was in Kirkwall, and the answer became frighteningly obvious. Then I had to go back and explain everything that led up to that moment... and then I asked myself the stupid question: 'But what if Hawke had been a mage?'
> 
> 10000 rewrites and a year later... 
> 
> (my thoughts went something like this 'even Cullen can't be this inept... or can he? hmm. well, maybe he did bang someone in Kirkwall. but what's he so afraid of that he'd rather let people think he's a blushing virgin? ....................... oh lord. better explain this somewhere, I guess' and lo, 'In Kirkwall' did become 70000 words of pure unfettered angst.)  
> __
> 
> Originally the inspiration for this whole series came from this dastardly awfulsome conversation with eris, which is why the fic is gifted to her (I'm sorry).
> 
> 'did you hear the commander of the inquisition has never... been with anyone before?'
> 
> 'why... why are they pointing at me and laughing? why are they holding up two fingers like a V?'  
> 'v stands for victory! don't worry about it'  
> v for victory cullen. v for victory.


	2. kiss the boys and make them cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘How else do you think he got me to consider crawling out of the woodwork?’
> 
> ‘What?’
> 
> ‘Everybody uses you as bait, Cullen.’
> 
> ‘...What?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen sees bunnies on maps. He's the only person capable of deciphering Hawke's horrible drawings.
> 
> I feel that Cullen is one of those people who is perfectly (sort of, anyway) content to love obsessively, from afar, believing nobody will ever love him (but still secretly hoping), like a lost, abandoned puppy that just can't stop waiting for its master.
> 
> #heknewanAmellonceshewasalovelywoman
> 
> ***
> 
> gorgeous fanart from raven-wilde again! I am blessed :)
> 
> http://raven-wilde.tumblr.com/post/145623500666/curly-cullen-rutherford-inspired-by-and

**VARRIC**

 

Varric Tethras had just finished the last layer of varnish on his crossbow when someone blustered into his room. Someone tall, awkward and bumbling, who banged his door open, yelling his name.

 _Shit, the Seeker._  Varric's first instinct was to run.

But it was worse. Cullen stormed through his door, being not only emotional but overwrought, two things Varric hated.

'You  _knew,_ ' the Commander of the Inquisition babbled, jabbing a finger into Varric's chest, hair and all.

What the hell was the man talking about? Varric had spent what felt like months on a boat with him, and he still hadn't figured him out. This was a new level of social awkwardness, tinged with aggression. He sighed, raising his hands, trying to scoot away from the pink-faced Commander.

'Curly, I have no idea what you're rambling on about.'

'Hawke! You  _knew_.'

'Shh! Lower your voice. If the Seeker...'

'She's the least of your problems, dwarf. You said you didn't know where she was. You said she had vanished. I  _knew_  you were lying.'

'What's got your panties in a knot?' Varric finally managed to get Cullen's finger off him. He examined Bianca sadly. In his surprise, he'd scraped his thumb through the drying varnish, leaving a ragged smear.

'You...' Cullen fumed. 'Hawke sent me something.'

Varric's jaw dropped. 'She did?'

'You didn't know?' Cullen's eyebrows knotted together alarmingly.

Sometimes, Varric thought, Cullen and the Seeker had a lot in common. He wondered, briefly, how many copies they would sell if he wrote them into one of his books. Perhaps with subtle pseudonyms, like  _Seeker and Right Hand to the Divine Cassandra Allegra Something-Bloody-Something_  and  _Commander of the Inquisition Cullen Buggering Rutherford_.

 _Commander Cullen's Right Hand. The Buggering Right Hand of Commander Cullen Rutherford._ It had a good ring to it.

He wondered how long his life would last if he actually did it. He decided against the idea.

'Nope,' the dwarf said. 'That, I'm not lying about. What was it?'

'A--a table,' Cullen said.

Varric scratched his head. 'Ah... What? That's... fairly weird, even for Hawke.'

'A chess table,' Cullen elaborated, when he was able to get his words in coherent order. 'She ah--broke a chessboard in my office in Kirkwall, once.' Varric watched the Commander's face slip into a pitiful mix of longing and the occasional twitch of fury.

'You should be happy, then,' Varric remarked. ' _I_  didn't get any presents.'

'She left me a note,' Cullen was saying. 'It said... ugh.' He pulled it from his pocket and shoved it at Varric, who squinted briefly at the scribble on the front before giving up and flipping it open.

_Be seeing you._

Varric read it again. He turned it over, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. He shook his head. He  _almost_  felt sorry for the fumbling commander in front of him, but the finger in his chest had been rather forceful, and Bianca...

'I don't know anything about that,' he said, and revelled in the sensation of lying through his teeth.

He watched Cullen slam the door on his way out, and considered variables of trajectory, velocity and momentum, and how they related to the body of a dwarf, and whether not having a beard would add to his... drag. He almost wrote the last line down.

Matters that would prove significant when everyone found out.

 

**HAWKE FLIES HOME**

 

On a cold spring morning, the wind blowing the clouds clear, Hawke waltzed back into Cullen's life.

Nothing prepared him for the sight of her from the balustrade outside his office. He had never been down the stairs that quickly. His heart wanted to leap.

Her hair was short, cut sharp at the line of her nape, and there was a weary air about her. Still, her face lit up with a genuine, toothy smile when she saw him. She popped him a mock-salute. Cullen felt the twinge in his gut again even as Varric gave him a long, deliberate stare and yanked Hawke away immediately, ostensibly to meet the Inquisitor.

The dwarf had been keeping very quiet, and by the look on Cassandra's face, Cullen thought it well-advised of him.

Varric had known where Hawke was all along.  _Of course._ It stung that she hadn't contacted him for the better part of two years, before sending him a godsdammed table, before sending a note that was a perfect example of saying something while saying absolutely nothing at all.

 

 

Later in the day, he received a summons to the war room. He wondered if she would be there. His palm, suddenly covered in sweat, slipped on the door handle.

She stood by the war table, in front of him, all gangly limbs and wicked eyes.

The Champion of Kirkwall put her hand on her hip and smiled at him, leaning into her pose. 'Hello, Commander.'

He felt the burn start in his cheeks and spread down his neck until he felt his entire body blushing.

The Inquisitor and the other advisors were looking very curiously at him, aside from Cassandra, who was looking at Hawke.

'Champion,' he managed. ‘Viscountess... Hawke.’ He thought he managed not to stutter. Josephine covered her mouth with her hand and looked up studiously. Leliana just watched him. A look of profound pity washed over the Inquisitor's face, and he knew he had failed.

He wanted nothing more than to snatch her up into his arms and demand to know why she hadn't written, had left him lingering, craving every word and every rumour and... Maker. He was having thoughts involving her and the war table, thoughts that didn't belong in a professional, important meeting. He couldn't concentrate. He was stumbling over his words.

When the meeting ended, he thought to catch her, but the Inquisitor was already guiding her out of the room. Hawke glanced at him and smiled, but her smile seemed harried and distant. As though she had already forgotten.

 

**VARRIC**

 

‘Yeah, I went on the boat to Haven with the Seeker. And Curly,’ Varric said. ‘It was expectedly dull. You know what I hate? Boats and templars. Also, the Seeker has a bit of a girl-crush on you. Did I mention hating her too?’

‘You hate a lot more things than that.’ Hawke kicked her boots against the stone wall she was sitting on, next to Varric. He noticed she was avoiding his gaze. She had come to find him after her meeting with the Inquisitor.

‘We’d be here all day if I told you what else I’ve added to my list since I last saw you,’ he muttered.

‘What was that about the Seeker? The crushing part.’

‘Seeing as she practically brutalized me just so she could track you down, I’d say that falls under the banner of unhealthy obsession.’

‘She hasn’t said a word to me.’

‘Hawke, you’re terrifying. Everyone in Skyhold is afraid of you. Probably all of Thedas now. I think I’ve done a rather good job of perpetuating that notion. The best part of my books is that that part is actually true.’

‘Thanks, Varric.’

‘Don’t thank me. Consider it ample reward for all the interest your money has been generating for me.’

‘I still can’t believe you made it all the way over here, you troublemaker.’

‘Made it here! You make it sound as though I wasn’t dragged here in chains.’

‘Oh come now, Varric. I like the sound of the Seeker. Besides, you're not going to bother convincing me that you put up much resistance, are you? Chance to get your face in the thick of the action? Gather material for  _Book Two -- The Champion in Highscold and Her Dashingly-Dwarven Friend Tarric Vethras?_ '

‘Because you need more  _fans_ ,’ Varric said, indignant. ‘Incidentally, it’s about time you start telling me about, oh, I don’t know, a certain baby templar with bad hair.’

‘Oh, Varric. His hair looks so much better now than it did in Kirkwall. I wonder what he styles it with.’

‘Bear grease,’ Varric snorted. ‘Nug musk. Tevinter blood magic. Who knows. You sent him a  _table?'_

Hawke shrugged.

'Hawke, you owe me for keeping secrets for you for two damn years. I kept them under duress. Angry, shouting, poking duress.'

'I'm not sure he wants to see me.'

Varric put his hands to his head. 'You're  _avoiding_  him? What are you, twelve? Did you not see him change colour when he saw you? Closest I've ever seen a man come to looking like a tomato.'

Hawke shrugged again, a little less cocksure this time. 'I thought I should come say hi to you first.'

'Bullshit.'

'Fine,' she said. 'I didn't leave him the best impression when I took off. I think.'

' _It's been fun, don't wait for me?_ ' Varric shook his head. 'Forget Ruffles. You should handle the Inquisition's diplomacy. Of all the shitty notes in the history of shitty notes, that one takes the cake.'

'Never claimed I was good with words.'

'You should have seen his face.' Varric tutted.

Hawke had a tendency to change subjects when she didn't like where they led. 'You dragged me off before I could say hello.'

'I had to revarnish three whole layers on Bianca this morning because he threw a tantrum at me. About you and your  _other_ shitty note. I felt like watching him suffer a little bit more. I'm not the one who didn't write him for almost two years.'

Hawke hopped down from the wall, looking as though she wanted to move, run away, but seemed trapped, shifting from side to side. Varric processed her odd movements.  _Guilt._  Hawke was actually feeling some form of guilt. Or, at least, finally demonstrating it.

For once, Varric Tethras held his tongue, and watched.

At last, Hawke said, 'Yeah.'

He checked a sigh of annoyance. ' _Yeah?_ '

'I screwed up.' She cleared her throat, shifted again, fiddled with her armour, danced from foot to foot.

Varric finally took pity on her. 'You know, you  _owe_  me. What would you say if I said I'd kept feeding the Commander of the Inquisition little tidbits about the mighty Champion of Kirkwall for the last couple of years?'

Hawke looked up. She paced the courtyard. She glared at him. She paced again. 'You did what?'

'I told him what he seemed to need to hear,' Varric said, shrugging his own shoulders. 'Said you seemed to be  _unattached_.'

‘How’d you... why...’

‘Motivations, Hawke. I’m good with those.’

'Hmm,' Hawke said, her voice thoughtful. She seemed to be wandering further and further in her pacings, until she was almost down the path that led to a half-ruined office, up on the battlements. 'I just remembered something I have to  _do._ '

Varric groaned.

 

**CULLEN**

 

Cullen was sitting in his office, quill in his hand, hands steepled over a bunch of papers, not really paying attention to them. She was talking to Varric.  _Again_.  _Still._ Not that he was spying or anything. It was perfectly normal to need to step out for fresh air, even if his room had a hole in it. The air seemed remarkably stagnant that afternoon, despite the breeze that was a constant feature in Skyhold. It had been hours since her arrival, and she'd still not bothered to--

His door opened. Hawke walked in. He froze, fumbled, dropped his quill.

‘I heard you were here,’ she said. That smile again.

'Hawke,' Cullen managed, half-rising from his chair. His lips yearned for hers, even though the doubts were still raging in his mind.

'You know me,' Hawke said. 'Couldn't stay away.'

But she had. All too long.

'Did you get my present?' Hawke asked, dropping herself onto a nearby crate before he could offer her his seat. Like as though nothing had changed, as though she sat in his chair in the Gallows, giving him her perfunctory, token reports, eyeing him over the tops of her hands.

'The chessboard?' What the hell was she playing at? There were a million words waiting to be said. He didn't want to talk about the blasted table, or... or  _hobbies_. He wanted to ask her where the hell she had been, why she had dropped out of everyone's lives. Why she had dropped out of his. There was another question, one he hadn't been able to ask even after events at the Gallows. A question he had never dreamt of being able to ask before, for which he had come up with a dozen terrible plans.

'Of course. I wrote a note and everything.'

'That's the worst note I've ever... Never mind. I did. I moved your table down to the garden.'

'You don't like it?'

'People don't like coming in here to talk to me, so I hear. I had to move it before anyone other than... anyway.'

He sighed and shifted back a little. 'You didn't write.' His tone was half-accusatory, half-wistful.

'I couldn't.'

'Did you ever get any of my messages?'

'All of them.'

'But...'

Before he could say anything else, Leliana stepped through the door with the same expression she had been wearing ever since she had seen him with Hawke. Beatific, faintly-amused. Cullen knew her well enough to know she hadn't missed a single thing.

'Of course,' Leliana said. 'I'd forgotten you and the Commander were old friends, Champion.' The hell she had.

'Old friends,' Hawke mused. 'Something like that, anyway. Did you need something, Sister Nightingale?'

'You remember me,' Leliana said with a coy smile. 'I've some questions for you, if you wouldn't mind giving me some of your precious time. I'm sorry for the interruption, Commander. I promise to return her to you when I'm done.'

As Leliana escorted her out of his office, Hawke turned and shot him the dirtiest wink he had seen since--well, since he had seen her last.

 

***

 

'Hey. Cullen.' Down at the training yard, the Iron Bull clapped a hand on the Commander's shoulder. 'I've got some tal-vashoth advice for you.'

'Do I want to hear this, Bull? Don't you have some trebuchets you need to borrow? Recruits to terrorize?'

'It's not going to stop me from saying it either way,' the qunari pointed out.

'Fine,' Cullen groaned, lifting his hands in resignation.

'I see who you keep staring at,' Bull said, winking. 'Just gonna put this out there -- you should probably do something before she jets off again.'

'What?'

'Hey, I read my casefiles. We were pretty interested in the erstwhile Viscountess-Champion of Kirkwall after that little incident. You know, killed an Arishok, that sort of thing. Wanted by the Qun and all. Fairly big deal.'

'Bull, where is this going?'

'I'm just saying. Man up, or you're going to have some really bad ugly regrets a year from now. Shit, maybe I'll make a move.'

'Bull...!'

'You know, I can see your moony, tortured eyes all the way across Skyhold. Krem can see it too. Krem said--'

'All right,' Cullen said in exasperation. 'I get it. What on earth am I supposed to do?'

'Whoa,' Bull breathed, leaning back against the wall. 'It's true.'

'What...?'

'You haven't been with a woman.'

'You can't tell that from what I just said! I mean, that wasn’t what I meant when I asked…'

'I knew it! They were right.' A smirk formed on Bull's face.

'Who was right?' Cullen demanded, deciding against correcting him. The last thing he needed was for anyone to know what had happened on his desk in the Gallows, two doors from Meredith Stannard’s office.

Bull shrugged. 'Who wasn't? It's all the rage at Skyhold. About who the lucky one to deflower you is going to be. They haven't quite realized it's Hawke who's got your panties in a twist. Oh, wait. Leliana has, since she told me first. It's that mutual spymaster respect thing, you know, which I'm violating right now. And Dorian, because he has two eyes, and Krem, which means the Chargers. Mind you, none of us are telling the Seeker, because she’ll shit bricks.'

'Wonderful,' Cullen muttered.

'Well, now I can tell them it's true, because you're not denying it. Can't lie, can you, Commander?' The qunari was wearing the largest grin Cullen had ever seen in his life. 'You know, if you need help figuring out what goes where, I can draw a--'

'No need. I read one of Varric's books once,' Cullen said wryly. ' _Lowlifes in Lowtown_ , I believe it was called...' He thought briefly of something else stashed away in his bottom drawer, and decided not to mention it,  _ever._

'Listen to a friend, Cullen,' Bull began, but got no further.

'When did you get friends, Cullen?' came a very familiar voice from behind him. Cullen knew his cheeks had turned red. Bull’s grin stretched even wider, and he said a saucy farewell before sidling away.

'Hawke,' Cullen said, turning to face her. His breath caught again at the sight of her. During their time in Kirkwall, despite their tumultuous introduction, she had become beautiful to him, beautiful and hallowed. If he were to be honest, it had happened a long time before he knew it, and he had slowly let his emotions ebb from behind the dam he'd built.

And he would never fail to be flustered whenever she showed up out of nowhere and ripped his composure to shreds.

'Why hello, Commander,' Hawke said. She smiled up at him. 'We should continue our... discussion.'

The problem with talking to Hawke was that he lost approximately ninety percent of his brain function when he looked at her. Things he meant to say invariably became a mix of three-letter syllables, along the lines of 'buh' and 'duh'. A couple of two-letter burbles. 'Er'. 'Um'. 'Uh'. 'Ah'.

Usually, after talking to her for a while, the idiocy left him, but after having dreamt of her for so long, having had the most depraved and decidedly non-Chantry-sanctioned thoughts, he had been reduced to a gibbering fool. Again.  _Maker's breath._

'Er,' he said. 'So, um. You were gone a long time. I wondered if I'd, uh, ever see a proper letter from you.'

She didn't miss the poorly-veiled accusation of his words. 'I was going to write, but then I figured by the time you got my letter I'd be here anyway.'

'Ah.' Cullen considered kicking himself in the teeth. He filled his lungs with air and forced himself to exhale slowly. 'Where did you end up?'

'Oh, you know, fun stuff. Running around looking for red lyrium, finding almost nothing at all. Making myself invaluable as always. Half-killing ancient magisters. Putting my fingers in all the pies.' Hawke sighed, formed a blade from the air and spiked it through the eye of the nearest training dummy before continuing.

'Varric got his network to leave me a message,' she said. 'I was surprised when I heard you'd left Kirkwall. And the Order. Didn't expect that from you, Knight-Commander.'

'Even the oldest dog can change,' Cullen said softly.

‘I heard you dropped a mountain on Haven,’ Hawke said. ‘Sounds like something  _I_  would do.’

‘It  _was_ my idea,’ he said. He smiled. ‘Though I had some help.’

'You have changed,' Hawke remarked, picking at her nails with her blade.

'You haven't,' he said.

‘Everything changes,’ Hawke said. ‘I never asked to be a leader.'

'Stay here,' Cullen said. 'You don't have to be one anymore. You could help us. You could... help me.' He took a breath, stilled the pounding of his heart. 'I meant what I said in Kirkwall. I still...'

'I want to,' Hawke said. She stepped a little closer. Her blade was gone. Her lips parted. 'But--'

'Commander,' came a voice. One of his men.

' _Yes?_ ' Somehow he managed to refrain from strangling the man.

'There's an urgent missive for you from the Inquisitor. Your presence is requested at the war table.'

Cullen swallowed the irritation in his voice. 'I'll be there.'

The soldier glanced at Hawke, then at his commander, and coughed. 'Uh, yes, Commander.' He backed away and practically ran.

'I guess I'll see you later,' Hawke said, and turned to go before he could say anything else.

 

At the war table Cullen was on edge, far more than normal, and Leliana and Josephine both kept shooting him intrigued glances. Even Cassandra raised an eyebrow. The Inquisitor was as unobservant as ever, focusing on the details of their situation, obsessed with war and violence as always. Cullen, usually the most focused of all of them at the war table, had never been so restless before. He kept fidgeting. He  _knew_  he was fidgeting. He couldn’t stop.

'What was your secret meeting about, Inquisitor? With the Champion.' Josephine tapped a finger against her chin, shooting Cullen an arch look when she said  _Champion_ , watching him rub his temple and shift awkwardly.

'Nothing important,' the Inquisitor said evasively. 'I have a better idea of what I'm supposed to do now. I won't trouble you with it. We should get our forces down to Crestwood and see what the Mayor was blathering about in the letter he sent. It's somewhat incoherent. I'm sending Hawke on ahead to see if she can get to her Warden friend. It sounds like he might need some help against the darkspawn, if he's on his own.'

'Marvellous,' Cullen muttered.

'What's that, Commander?'

'Oh, nothing. I'll uh -- I'll just go get the troops ready, shall I? I've got to calibrate my battering ram--ah...' He abandoned the sentence.

In the silence, Cassandra snorted.

He could practically feel the grins plastered on Josephine and Leliana's faces as he edged out the door.

As the door swung shut, he could just make out the Inquisitor asking, 'What's gotten into him?' and Leliana echoing his words in a sweet voice.

'Oh, nothing.'

 

**HAWKE**

 

Hawke wandered the halls of Skyhold, bored. Varric was off somewhere on a mission, Cullen had been accosted by visiting Orlesian dignitaries, and everyone else seemed too awed by her reputation to want to say more than a brief, starstricken hello.

After a few minutes she was quite thoroughly aggravated. The annoying thing about being bored was that she started to think about things she didn’t necessarily want to think about.

Her thoughts seemed to be drifting to the Gallows a lot, recently. It seemed not so long ago that she had been standing there, bothering Cullen, nattering away to provoke some kind of response from him. Helping templars. The absurdity of it. Him and his stupid, banal reports.

 _I believe that's what being a templar is about._  The words rang in her head. After he'd been tortured by abominations and demons for months, he remained kinder than templars who had never seen it happen.

The times, too, when he had let his eyes linger on her a little longer, when the slight smile on his face had remained almost throughout an entire conversation, when the reports had become an excuse, when he’d asked her simply, quill frozen in his hand, how she was holding up.

For Bethany's sake, Hawke had let him take her phylactery, had continued visiting him at the Gallows, until she had seen something more behind the cold steel plate, warm flesh, a warm heart. Still they were a million miles apart, the desk between them as good as any wall. Until Bethany had been taken by the Wardens along the Deep Road, Hawke had let that distance stand between her and the Knight-Captain. And then she’d...

Hawke didn’t really like thinking about that moment. Forced herself on him? Corrupted the sweet, naive, virginal,  _young Knight-Captain?_  She had told Isabela about it, and amazingly enough, the pirate had kept that secret to herself. Isabela. Thinking of her still brought pain to Hawke’s heart. How many friends had she lost along the way? That old dream, a ship's sails, frozen in moonlight, receding.

Then things had just escalated with the Qun, the mages, the Templars, the godsdamned Chantry and poor, forsaken Anders.

Another clump of memories surfaced. Cullen, still the Knight-Captain, asking her opinion. Reflecting deeply upon it. Placing her phylactery back in her hands, setting her free.

Him, placing his heart and sword and life between her and the insane Knight-Commander, kneeling to her at the Gallows after Meredith's unfortunate end, pledging her his support, and all his men following suit.

Thus had Hawke become Viscountess.

Maker, had she ever wanted it. Him. Then her conscience had taken over, right when she hadn't wanted it to. Exalted March, coming for Kirkwall, to rip all the secrets out of him, to strip him of all he had ever given his life to be. And she had left, abandoned a dream, given up a place she had finally began to call home, to draw them away, to send the hunt elsewhere, keep them away from him.

She hadn’t written him. It was half a lie. She had, but hadn’t sent any of her letters. She’d burned them instead. Stupid letters that revealed far too much about herself than she wanted to. Instead she'd settled for reading Varric's letters over and over, impressing them upon her memory before consigning them to the flame.

_I could write a whole book about Curly's expressions. I never knew a face could crumple in on itself like that. Every time I say your name, he jumps visibly. I've made a habit of it now. The Seeker hasn't noticed because she's too busy yelling at me. Add that to your list of things Varric Tethras doesn't like. Talk to you soon, don't be a fucking stranger. 'Ass-end of Orlais,' my ass._

Hawke had found that letter in a cubbyhole at the tavern Varric had mentioned. He had given her a remarkably long list of boltholes, gambling dens and brothels in which he had 'significant interest'. She had stayed quite comfortably in his private rooms in all of those places, and wondered just how wealthy the dwarf actually was, and why he had even cared a whit about the Deep Roads or any of that shit.

_Kirkwall. I actually miss Kirkwall._

She wandered high and low, searching for news of Bethany. She heard nothing. Saw nothing. Found nothing save more questions, ones without answers. She hadn't seen Bethany since that royally fucked-up day at the Gallows. In the confusion afterwards, her sister had slipped away. Left nothing. Not even a note.

_See, Varric. I'm not that bad. I left you a letter. Left Cullen a sort-of note. Probably shouldn't have. It's not like I thought I was ever going to see him again. I wanted him to move on. Have some kind of future with someone who isn't..._

That long-dead lie made Hawke cringe even as she thought it.

_Well, shit, Varric. I'll see you soon. I just need--_

But she hadn't known how to voice that part.

There were many things a Champion could find to distract herself. So many people in need of help. Red lyrium sprouting up all over Thedas. Two thumbs. Eight fingers to pretend she didn’t need anyone.

She had only been able to lie to herself for so long. Then she had figured she would drop in on him and explain everything.  _I was gone. Now I’m back. No big deal._ She was finding it a little more difficult than she’d expected. She had let months stretch into years.

The last night she had spent in Kirkwall had left her no more satisfied than before. Jethann had done his duty with fervour, brought her sobbing again and again to release while she dreamt of golden curls and eyes that loved. It was not the same. It was not enough. It was not him. She had not been able to forget.

He was so busy, too. She’d thought him hard to get a hold of in Kirkwall; now he seemed to be even busier.

Hawke sighed and tried to amuse herself by wandering around the gardens, but a couple of lonely potted plants did little to lighten her spirits.

‘And you must be the terrifying Champion of Kirkwall.’

‘Oh, and you’re a Vint,’ Hawke said in surprise to the mustachioed mage leaning against the pillar behind her.

‘Now that’s interesting,’ the owner of the voice said. ‘I’m starting to have a better idea of what tickles our dashing Commander’s fancy. A bit tactless, a little jagged around the edges, but strangely similar to our good Commander himself.’

‘Do go on,’ Hawke said.

‘About which? I shall just save us both time and answer both questions. The Commander has been falling suspiciously silent every time your name‘s been mentioned. Looks down at his feet, pretends to be playing with his pen, that sort of thing. If I’m any judge of character, you’re overjoyed to hear this.  _I_  would be. He does get rather blushy. It’s a sickly mix of adorable and revolting. I might have worn out your name a little bit, just to see him squirm. I’ve even started boring him to tears with my imaginary falconry hobby, just to watch him twitch every time I talk about my sparrow _hawks_.’

‘Why, you seem to like tormenting him almost as much as I do,’ Hawke said.

‘Kiss the boys and make them cry, I always say. And if you can’t?’ He shrugged. ‘Well, just make them die. With the Commander, it’s particularly easy. But no less satisfying, I assure you.’

Hawke cracked a grin.

He bowed with a flourish. 'As to how I knew you were the Champion? Now you're just being modest. The entire hold has been babbling about your impending arrival for a couple of weeks now. They're already about as terrified of you as they are of our good Seeker Cassandra. If you really want to remain anonymous, you  _could_ try wearing different armour.'

Hawke opened her mouth. The mage held up a hand. 'And to forestall your next question, I am Dorian Pavus, a dirty, depraved Vint if there ever was one.'

She decided she liked him. 'So you're friends with Cullen?'

'Insofar as he has friends, yes. So, no. He's just too polite to tell me to leave him be.'

She laughed. 'For that, I'll buy you a pint at the tavern.'

'Pints for Vints! I'll gladly accept a round from the Champion. Varric  _has_ been talking about your unfathomable wealth.'

'Wonderful. Did you know he's actually richer than me? Did he also talk about this friend we have who hates Vints? Glows when he’s angry. Come to think of it, glows all the time. Does this thing with his hand...'

'No, but I have this friend who also hates Vints, does this thing with his horns... Perhaps they should meet. Although I'm curious as to what exactly your friend can do with his hand.'

'You're a Vint. And a mage. Probably best you don't meet him.'

 

**THE HAWK AND THE WOLF**

 

As she made her way back to Cullen's office, thinking of the times she had wound her way down Kirkwall's steps to the docks, taken the unstable ferry across the turbulent waters that moated the Gallows, she espied a pair of eyes on her.

They belonged to a thin, bald elf, who watched her from the passage that separated Cullen's tower from the rest of the hold. He wore plain, worn robes, carried a simple wooden staff, and yet he carried himself almost regally. His gaze was sharp.

'Who are you?' Hawke said as she neared him, eyes narrowing. She  _knew_  him. She felt the power that radiated off him. Once, in a dark tunnel, beneath Kirkwall.

He had been weaker then.

'They call me Solas,' he said.

'You know me,' she said.

He inclined his head. 'Of course. Your name is renown, is it not?'

'Don't play games with me,' Hawke said. 'You were in Kirkwall.' She had seen him but briefly, while Cullen had been looking elsewhere, and yet she knew it was him. There were certain things she could not explain to Cullen, nor other mages. Bloodhound, Fenris had once called her, his voice appreciative. She did have a knack for tracking down the very best blood magic had to offer, but more than that, she remembered something about him. Something inimitable.

A long, slightly-irked sigh. 'It seems you remember.'

'Yes,' Hawke said, her temper rising. 'You stopped us.'

'You would have torn the Veil apart,' he said. 'Tampering with factors you never understood.'

She bridled, but he continued, suddenly impassioned. 'You should be glad I reached you in time. You would have released that which must remain bound, destroyed it or set it free. You would have broken the Veil to satisfy your own pride.'

The emphasis he gave the last word pissed her off. 'If stopping demons is such a terrible thing, then yes. And you blew up the floor under my feet.'

'Perhaps one might call that a favour.'

'You almost killed me.'

'Did I?' He looked at her with an arched eyebrow. 'Or did I provide you with a catalyst?' His eyes travelled towards Cullen's tower, where her feet had been taking her. 'Perhaps you require another one.'

Her mouth opened and shut like that of a particularly stupid fish. When she regained control of herself, she said, 'It was blind luck I survived.'

'I knew the young Knight-Captain would catch you,' Solas said, his voice disdainful. 'He watched you like a hawk. He watches you still. You never were in any danger.' He paused. 'You would have been, had you succeeded in your foolish plan.'

Hawke longed to hit him. 'I defeated the Formless One,' she told him.

'Ah. I heard Kirkwall became quite the icon for temperance after that. You merely shooed it off. It lingers yet.' He shook his head, annoyed. 'You have not even the faintest inkling of why it was there. It guards the Forbidden One. It protects the Veil.'

' _Who_  are you?' Hawke asked.

'A mere hedge mage,' the elf said. 'A wanderer. Someone who cares to keep the Veil intact.'

'Why didn't you just tell me all this?' she demanded. 'Instead of blasting a hole in the floor.'

'You would have listened?' His words were both sceptical and apt. 'I certainly did not have the strength to deal with you and the templar both. Not then.'

'Not now,' Hawke told him.

He ignored the threat and examined her face. 'You unbound Corypheus.'

Hawke sighed bitterly and leaned back against the old stones. 'I killed him once. I'll do it again,' she told him.

'I expect nothing less from you, Champion,' Solas said, his eyes unreadable for a moment. 'It is possible I might one day owe you a... favour.'

He bowed to her, to her surprise, and headed back to his chambers. As he turned, she caught sorrow in the crease of his mouth, almost perfectly tucked away.

Dimly, she remembered Varric giving her a brief rundown on various personages of the Inquisition. Varric had described a hedge mage, an elf, called him Chuckles. The dwarf had given her that name, once. Hawke breathed in the cold evening air, breathed it out. She felt suddenly old, left-behind.  _This is not my story, not anymore._

And though a part of her gladdened at the thought, there was another part that felt as incidental and forgotten as whatever creature lay locked away, down in the darkness.

 

 

 

**CULLEN**

 

‘What  _are_  you doing?” she asked as she breezed through his door.

Cullen dropped his arm guiltily. He had been looking up at the sun, streaming in through the gaps in the wooden roof of his rooms, tracing patterns in the air with his finger.

‘Yes, there  _is_  a massive hole in your ceiling,’ she said. ‘But what are you doing?’

‘I was just... thinking about. Calibrating... oh, never mind.’ He wanted to pull her into his arms and do  _something_. Instead he rubbed the side of his neck.

‘Why doesn’t your office have a roof, Commander?’ she asked, sprawling down in his chair. ‘I know you like the bracing mountain air, but this is a little absurd.’

‘I have at least half a roof, you know. As for the rest of it, I’m atoning for my wicked ways by enduring whatever obstacles the Maker throws in my way,’ Cullen said. The truth was that he was no longer afraid of screaming in the night. The air was open. The air was freedom. He was learning how not to hide.

‘Your wicked, wicked ways,’ Hawke said, rolling the words over her tongue. ‘Do tell.’

Whatever she was playing at, it worked. Cullen felt himself flush dreadfully, and Hawke rewarded herself with a smile that was almost as wide as Bull’s had been.

‘Er…’ Hiding his face with his arm, turning away slightly. That old habit of his.

‘I do hope your bedclothes are warm,’ she said, again in that light, airy voice, the one she used when she was trying to sound unaffected.

Cullen seated himself on the desk next to her, since she occupied the only chair in his room – a tactic he used to keep people from lingering too long and distracting him from his tasks. Right now Hawke’s proximity to his desk made him think of an afternoon years ago, and the thought made him hurriedly change subject.

‘Something happened,’ he said. ‘You look… worried.’

Hawke looked as though she was about to protest, but she apparently thought better of it. She straightened up a little in his chair.

‘You know, it really is cold in here,’ she said.

He stood, undid his cloak and placed it over her shoulders, fastening the clasp around her neck. It was huge on her. She looked like a little bird lost in a mass of feathers. Cullen couldn’t help smiling at the image, and at her startled expression.

‘Such fancy clothes,’ she said, pulling at the feathers. ‘Did you really pick this out for yourself?’

‘Actually, I did,’ Cullen said. ‘It reminded me of... you.’ He studied her eyes, peeking out at him, one raised eyebrow.

He wanted to reach out and run his fingers through her hair. Instead, he found a crate in the recesses of his room and seated himself next to the chair she’d occupied. The crate was low, and he found himself gazing up at her.

‘There were so many things I wanted to say to you after you left,’ he said. ‘I wanted to explain... Call it trite if you must, but for a long time after Kinloch Hold, I was... broken. I didn’t see myself as worthy of love. I didn’t think anyone would want to be with me.’

‘I figured that out about you. I’m good at fixing things,’ Hawke said. ‘I fixed Kirkwall, you know. Well, kind of. I heard you did a lot more fixing before you came here. Sounds like you were a lot better at it than I was.’

‘Too little, too late,’ Cullen said, looking down.

‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘I have a book for you. It’s called  _The Tale of the Champion_. I think that’s the subtitle.  _Too little, too late._ ’

‘I heard you were looking for red lyrium,’ he said. ‘You should just have stayed in Kirkwall.’ 

It was a bleak joke, for bleak times, a pain they both understood.

‘That damned statue,’ Hawke said, leaning her head back. ‘I fix things, but apparently I break them too.’ She sighed. ‘After all that, I feel like I didn’t do that much good for Kirkwall. Or you.’

‘Don’t say that,’ he said automatically. ‘You saved me. In more ways than you know.’

Hawke looked at him.

‘Maker’s breath,’ he said. ‘It is cold in here.’

‘You can’t have this back,’ Hawke said immediately, wrapping the cloak around herself more tightly.

‘I believe it sits better on you than it does me, my lady,’ he said.

'You're a shitty liar, Knight-Commander.’

‘I didn’t know you were keeping secrets from me, Champion.’ Now his tone was soft and serious. He wanted to take her hands in his, but they were hidden somewhere in the depths of his damned cloak.

‘And what secrets would these be?’

His voice softened. ‘Where did you go? Why didn't you write?' That other question threatened to surface, but he quelled it.

She sank deeper into the feathers so the tip of her nose barely poked out. ‘Where’d you get that scar, anyway?’ She was looking at the line that ran across his top lip. ‘That scar is hot.’

‘Hawke…’

‘You never call me by my first name.’

‘Nobody calls you by your first name. You said you hated it. And you’re avoiding this discussion.’

‘Well, yes,’ she admitted.

Cullen sighed, sat looking up at her, and in the end, conquered her with silence. Hawke, like Dorian, couldn’t stand the empty space of a void conversation. He knew she would cave.

‘Fine,’ she said. Now her nose was covered by the cloak too, and only her eyes peeked out. Eyes that had haunted his dreams all too long.

He stayed silent, and she fidgeted.

‘I thought things would be better for everyone, if I left, but...’ She had actually dropped her customary barrier of humour.

‘Yes,’ Cullen prompted in a soft, gentle voice, afraid of what she might say. He remembered, after all, how hard it had been for him to even think about his past, and how much he still kept locked inside.

She met his eyes, earnest and warm. ‘Fine,’ she said again. ‘In the days before I left Kirkwall, I heard… rumours about my father. I never told you much about him. He was an apostate, like Bethany. Like me. And the Wardens made him use blood magic to bind Corypheus.’

Cullen had heard part of the story from Varric, but there were things the dwarf had omitted. The blood magic part, for instance. Sometimes it astonished him how protective Varric could be of his friends.

‘I found Corypheus. I killed him,’ Hawke said. ‘I swear, I know when something’s dead. He was as dead as anything I’ve ever killed. Obviously, I didn’t kill him dead enough.’

She looked down. ‘Perhaps I should have listened to the Wardens. Resorted to binding him again with my blood. Perhaps it would have saved us all.’

'It wouldn't have,' Cullen said. 'Whatever happened to get us here happened for a reason, and we will end Corypheus. We almost had him at Haven. He is not a god, Hawke.'

She sighed. ‘I saw—I don’t know. Images, memories, afterthoughts of my father, when I was hunting Corypheus in the tunnels beneath the Vinmarks. He tried to save us all. He locked Corypheus away. I let him loose.’

She tipped her head back against the wood of the chair. ‘I’ve failed at a lot of things,’ she said.

‘You’ve saved a lot of people,’ he said, resting his hand on her shoulder through the cloak.

'Corypheus came back. I fucked up.' Her voice was morose. ‘I might have had a hand in destroying the world.’

'Perhaps,' Cullen said. 'Who knows what dark secrets the ancient magisters learned? Trust me, Hawke. Perhaps he left that prison because it is his time to die.'

He paused. 'If it makes you feel any better,' and he drew a breath, 'I'm the fool who reinstated Samson to his position. Perhaps if I had left him to rot in Lowtown...'

'I always knew he was an ass,' Hawke said.

He extended a hand to her, palm up. After some hesitation a slim hand appeared from beneath the feathers to settle into his. He held her hand with both of his.

'We  _will_  stop him,' Cullen said.

Hawke finally seemed to unwind a bit. Suddenly, she yawned, and her hand shot to her mouth. Embarrassed, she laughed a little.

'It's been a long day,’ she said. ‘I... don’t feel like moving just yet. I don’t really want to be alone with my thoughts.’

He reached out his arms to her and pulled her closer so she was leaning on him. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said. ‘Just don’t think about anything for a while. I’ll be here.’

She looked at him for a moment, then shut her eyes and turned her head so her face was buried in his shoulder, in the soft fabric of his tunic. And though she had managed to deflect his real question, he wrapped his arms around her. Chin resting on the top of her head, his hand stroking her hair softly, he shut his own eyes, and the nightmares didn’t come.

 

**HAWKE**

 

Hawke awoke, wrapped up under a mountain of blankets. Dimly, she remembered falling asleep, briefly waking to find herself drooling all over Cullen’s shoulder.

Falling asleep in someone’s arms. It seemed like forever since she had been able to do such a simple thing.

How on earth had he managed to get her up the ladder without waking her? She wondered where he’d slept.

She dragged herself out of bed. He’d even left her the cloak, draped over her. She was covered in his scent, in metal and spice. She smiled and made her way down the ladder. Cullen was sitting at his desk, scowling at his mountain of paperwork. There was a duvet stuffed in the corner of the room. Her armour was stacked neatly in the corner. He had gone no further with her clothing.  _Chantry boys_. She remembered his hands unbuckling her armour, an evening long ago in Kirkwall, in his room, on his desk.

His face brightened when he saw her. She smiled without thinking. He was older, a man now, handsome features a little more haggard here and there. Much like herself. She liked that he was smiling enough these days to have the faint starts of laughlines at the corners of his eyes. Still, when he turned his head in that old, questioning tilt and the light illuminated his features just so, she saw the boy in him still, and wondered if he saw the girl she had been.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Thank you for somehow dragging my dead weight up to your room.’

Hawke noticed he had also found another chair, and she planted herself in it.

‘You’re a very sound sleeper,’ he said. ‘I had you over my shoulder like a sack of tubers. Speaking of which, you must be hungry. I’ll call for your breakfast.’

‘Well! That’s the first time I’ve ever heard the Champion of Kirkwall likened to a bunch of root vegetables. I should have risen earlier,’ Hawke said with a sigh. ‘I’ve got to go to Crestwood to look for Stroud. It'll be easy to spot him. Man looks like a nutcracker.’

‘It’s still early,’ Cullen said. ‘You should eat before you go. No arguments, Hawke.’ He rang the bell on his desk and made the necessary arrangements with the soldier who appeared almost instantly.

‘Be fun if you could come,’ she said after the soldier had gone. ‘I could save your ass again. Just like old times.’

‘I wish I could,’ he said, putting his quill down and stretching his neck. ‘Instead I have a bunch of soldiers who aren’t quite sure how to hold their shields.’

She remembered what she had meant to tell him the evening before.

'Do you remember our journey down into the bowels of Kirkwall?'

'I wish I didn't,' he said. 'Why do you ask?'

'I saw your bald elf there. Solas. It was him. Remember that strange explosion?'

Cullen blinked. 'Are you certain?'

'He admitted as much,' Hawke said.

A wave of anger passed over Cullen's face. 'He tried to kill you?'

Hawke put her hand on his arm. 'It was a warning,' she said. 'He said he knew you would catch me.'

She looked up at him. 'You did.'

'You could have died,' he said, still furious. 'I'll find him.'

'He said he stopped us from breaking the Veil. That we would have set the Forbidden One free.' She sighed. 'I think he might have saved us after all. Although I'm sure if I'd made you carry more lyrium we could have...'

'You think he saved us,' Cullen mused, slightly mollified, though his brow was still crumpled up into the remnants of a scowl. He sighed. 'I'll tell Leliana to investigate him again. I was always curious about his provenance. It seemed... convenient.'

He paused. 'I did tell you we should have turned back.'

'I  _knew_ you were going to say that,' she told him.

A kitchen maid bustled in with their breakfasts, bowing and hastily retreating. Hawke noticed the longing look she gave the Commander.

‘You certainly seem popular with the ladies,’ she remarked with a smile, tucking into her food. Simple fare, but good.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oblivious, too,’ Hawke said. ‘The girl was all but tripping over her skirts.’

Cullen sighed. ‘I don’t really pay attention to these things,’ he said. ‘I’ve got so much else to think of, anyway.’

‘Hmm,’ was all she said as she finished the rest of her breakfast. ‘I wish I could stay longer. Cullen... I appreciated you dragging my thoughts out of me last night.’

‘Does it... Did it help?’

‘I slept well last night,’ she said, and was gratified to see his face light up with a smile. ‘And I should thank you for sacrificing your bed.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘You’re always welcome to. Uh. Sleep here. I mean, not... I mean...’

‘I’m glad I came to see you before I left Kirkwall,’ Hawke said, laughing off his fumbling. ‘You’re extremely funny, Commander. You make me laugh.’

 

**CULLEN**

 

'Hawke.'

'Mm.' She was playing with her fork, scoring her symbol into his desk.

'It hurt when you left.' Finally the words were surfacing.

'I didn't think anyone would miss me,' she said, her tone suspiciously bland.

Something lurked behind her facetiousness. He met her gaze and waited, conquered her with silence.

'That is, ah,' Hawke stuttered. 'I mean.'

'The mighty Champion is flustered,' Cullen said. Now his smile returned, a little wider. 'Varric calls you Champion Hawkward, you know.'

'Where is he? I've some things to say to him.'

'Who doesn't? I owe him a few thumps,’ Cullen said. He wanted to ask her something. Finally he squeezed the words out. ‘Varric said...’

‘Varric says an awful lot.’

‘Yes,’ Cullen admitted. He had realised that on the journey across the sea from Kirkwall.

‘What did he say this time? Anything I ought to punch him for?’

‘He, ah... He sometimes spoke to me about what he’d heard about you. From your dead drops.’

‘Oh,’ Hawke said. She looked down.

‘He said... not that I have any idea why he specifically made a point of saying this... that you seemed lonely. Er. That you were... alone. I mean, not with...’ He put his head in his hands. ‘This isn’t... I...’

‘That’s  _funny,_ ’ Hawke said. ‘Varric wrote me footnotes that said you were  _lonely_  too.’

‘He did?’

‘He’s a good friend,’ Hawke said. ‘Also rather good at pulling heartstrings.’

‘What?’

‘How else do you think he got me to consider crawling out of the woodwork?’

‘What?’

‘ _Everybody_  uses you as bait, Cullen.’

‘...What?’

Hawke snorted. ‘You’ve changed in some ways, but not others.’ She sighed. ‘Thanks for the meal. I should really go. Wardens to find, idiots to kill.’ She was moving very slowly, seeming to find it difficult to leave her chair.

With a wistful sigh, he stood up and went to help her up.

‘Templars usually only look the part,’ she remarked as she stood and went to the corner to grab her pack. She had her back turned to him. She seemed to be finding excuses to keep facing the wall, out of his sight.

‘I’m not a templar anymore,’ he reminded her. ‘I suppose I’m allowed to not be a self-righteous asshole anymore.’

‘Cullen?’ Hawke still wasn’t looking at him, she was fussing around with her things, facing the corner.

‘Yes?’

‘That note I wrote you. When I left.’

Thinking of it still hurt, after all this time. ‘I remember,’ he said.

‘I, ah...’

He walked over to her and slipped his arms around her in a warm embrace, and leaned his head against hers.

‘I know why you left,’ he said quietly. ‘I figured it out eventually. I’m not that dense. But you didn’t have to protect me. I--’

She turned and kissed him with such fury that he stumbled back a little before catching himself. Her lips were hot and wet on his. There was a look in her eyes he hadn’t seen since Kirkwall, years ago, one which he had the feeling he was mirroring. Her hands caught his and directed them to her waist. She stepped in closer, touching the front of his shirt, his neck, the sides of his face, her mouth finding his.

'You just can't stay out of trouble,' she hissed at him, momentarily pulling away. 'I left Kirkwall to keep you safe. I thought you might be happy taking up, oh, gardening or some other sensible, normal hobby, like _chess_. Then you sign up with the bloody Inquisition, raise an army and go to war with legions of demons? You are so  _aggravating_.'

'It sounds like something you would do,' he protested. 'It's a fairly large army, it's probably safer than--'

She kissed him again.

'Well, you should have come to keep me safe earlier, then,' he managed.

'I came as soon as I heard how stupid you were being.'

He crushed her in his arms.

‘Where,’ Hawke mumbled through his mouth, ‘did...’ she gnawed at his upper lip. ‘You...’ she kissed him again. ‘Get...’ her hands moved lower down his body, ‘this...’ Cullen yelped as she bit him on the lip. ‘Godsdamned...’

‘Scar.’ She started to unhook the front of her outfit. Her hands went down to undo his laces. She was kneeling in front of him, that last image of her he’d had in his dreams every night since she had vanished. Her lips brushed bare, sensitive skin. Skin that had only ever been touched by her. Skin that belonged to her mouth and her fingers and... Cullen almost screamed.

A knock on the door. ‘Commander?’

Hawke dropped her hands, arranged her clothes and got to her feet in front of him, in one swift motion. Cullen almost screamed again, this time in frustration and no small amount of panic. His breeches were wide-open.

‘ _Yes?_ ’ Nobody ever waited for permission to open doors in Skyhold.

The soldier that had the ill fortune to open the door stepped backward at the sight of his face. With some effort, Cullen composed himself into a gentler state of mind. Hawke still looked ready to cut the hapless private in two. He realised, through the haze that was clogging his mind, that she was the only thing standing between his state of specific disarray and the troops milling about outside his door, scouts and spies and just about everyone else in the damned hold eyeballing the Commander and the Champion, as though they were players in one of Varric's accursed novels.

Hawke, who had turned her head back just enough to eyeball him, started to move from side to side so he was forced to match her steps or display his bare glory to the entirety of Skyhold. Maker’s breath, he couldn’t quite reach down and put anything away without drawing even more attention to himself. It was unholy torture. Hawke was worse than the Ferelden Circle at times.

‘What is it?’ His words rushed out, half-desperate. The air was  _cold._

‘Uh, Commander, sorry to disturb you, but the Inquisitor’s sent me to tell the Champion that her horse is ready.’

‘That--that’s all?’

‘Yes, ser.’

‘I’ll be there,’ Hawke said, and shut the door in the man’s face. Then she slid down against him, down on her knees before him, until another knock disrupted them again. This time Cullen managed to stuff everything back in his breeches. His face was aflame.

‘Oh for the love of...!’ Hawke opened the door this time. ‘Yes?’

‘Champion Hawke! Uh, if the Commander is inside, I was told to tell him his presence is required at the war table. Uh... posthaste.’

‘Fine!’ Hawke said. ‘Just fine. Go and tell whoever needs to know that the Commander will be there very shortly. Make up a time or something. I don’t care. And don’t open this door again. I haven’t killed anyone for at least a day.’

She slammed the door shut. ‘Well, it appears I’ll just have to have my wicked way with you when I get back from stupid Crestwood.’

She made to leave, but Cullen pushed her up against the door, his hands on either side of her shoulders, leaning down over her.

‘Once more for luck,’ he said, and kissed her achingly slowly, until a warm glow began to spread from his lips to the rest of his face, then down his arms and chest and to... other places.

‘I’m really rather glad I didn't push you off the cliff after all,’ she said in wonder. 'Sorry about the note. I really did think--'

He kissed her again. 'Don't,' he said. 'It doesn't matter.' With her arms around him, he felt oddly solid. Needed. Welcome. Whole.

He nuzzled her cheek with his nose. ‘You should... probably go. And I should go. You will take care, won’t you.’

‘Ah, don’t worry about me,’ Hawke said, her typical insouciance already back. ‘What’s a few darkspawn in the grand scheme of things? Did you see the size of the Arishok? I almost died five times. Didn’t you get my report about the high dragon? No big deal.’

Cullen laughed and pressed his forehead against hers before stepping back and letting his arms fall to his side so she could leave, with a last parting kiss. It was small, light as a bird.

With a deep sigh, he went about his duties, grabbing his cloak on the way out. Her scent lingered on it. It felt like her now, the way he’d always hoped it would.

 

**THE COMMANDER’S REQUISITION**

 

Cullen had taken a certain measurement the night he had carried Hawke up his ladder, so exhausted she hadn’t stirred.

After she had left for Crestwood, he headed to the Undercroft, first checking that Dagna was at mess. Of all the things he didn’t want exploding or creating portals to eldritch dimensions, this ranked fairly high on the list.

 

Harritt ate his lunch in the forge, taciturn and grumpy as ever. He gave Cullen a brief nod as he came in.

‘I’ve a requisition,’ Cullen said.

‘What sort, Commander?’

‘Uh,’ Cullen began, ‘I need a…’ he made a vague circle with his hands, ‘a washer.’

Harritt gave him a blank, unimpressed stare.

‘About… about so big.’ He held up the cord he had carefully cut.

‘A washer.’ The smith gave him a flat look. ‘Inquisition business, is it?’

‘Yes,’ Cullen said immediately, and blushed at the lie. ‘I mean, I’ll pay for it. It’s… secret Inquisition business. I can’t put it on the ledger.’

‘Really.’ Harritt reached over into a drawer and fished out an old steel washer that was exactly the right size, if not exactly the best of shapes. The surface was pitted and rough to the touch. ‘This should solve your problem then, shouldn’t it?’ He cocked an eyebrow. 

‘Uh… It has to be more…’ 

‘Wearable,’ Harritt finished.

‘Er.’

‘Like a ring.’

‘Well…’

‘You might not be as useless at this as they say you are,’ Harritt said. ‘Maybe the Vint will win his bet after all.’

‘ _What bet?’_

‘Don’t you worry your pretty head, Commander,’ the smith said. ‘Give me that.’ He took the cord. ‘What do you want it to be made of?’

Cullen looked down at the dented, worn washer, each scratch won by hard use and duty, ready to be shaped into something new.

‘This’ll do,’ he said.

 

**EN PASSANT**

 

The Inquisitor had returned from Crestwood with Hawke's Warden friend Stroud in tow, bringing the rain with them, hauling Hawke off for a private discussion. From what they'd mentioned, things weren't going well. Damn the Inquisition for this torture. He just wanted to see her for more than five minutes at a time, without everyone in the hold banging on his door. He needed locks, bolts, a gate, a godsdamned moat, dragons.

Finally, in an attempt to hide from the Orlesians that seemed to have a slew of never-ending demands for the  _pretty Commander_ , he had fled to the gardens.

‘You’re going to rust, you know. And just look at your hair.’ Dorian slid down into the seat across from where Cullen had been staring blankly at the chessboard. Cullen hadn’t even noticed the rain dripping on him, lost in thought as he had been. Water dripped off his head and onto the pieces. Dorian, by contrast, had invoked a barrier above his head, and remained perfectly untouched by lesser things like grime and water.

The mage paused, and added, ‘This is just embarrassing, Commander.’

'Dorian. What’s embarrassing?' He made a feeble attempt at wringing his hair out.

'Oh come now, Commander. Both Bull and I have been wondering when Hawke will claim your hmm, knightly flower.'

'Sweet Maker,' Cullen sputtered. 'Is my private life the discussion of Skyhold now?'

'Only for those in the know,' Dorian said. 'Which is everybody. I thought you'd be casting off your clothes in the first three days. Shucking the robes, rutting like rogues.'

The mage looked entirely too pleased with himself.

'Commandeering her c--'

‘Andraste preserve me,’ Cullen managed.

‘--contours. You should be ravishing her,’ Dorian continued, an unstoppable force of perversity. ‘Ravishing her until she lies sated and ripe beneath your heaving body, a split fig exposed to the disgracefully chill air of your unbelievably shameful office.’

Cullen looked for all the world like he was about to explode.

‘I do so enjoy seeing you blush, Commander,’ Dorian remarked. ‘Tomato red is a very fetching colour on you. You might be an autumn.’

He paused and added, 'It's a sad day when I'm better with women than you are. And I'm not even interested in sleeping with them.'

Cullen put his head in his hands and groaned. 'Load up the board, you Tevinter bastard. I might as well destroy you again for that.'

'For what?' Of course it was her. Of course.

'Hawke,' Cullen stammered.

'Oh my,' Dorian declared. 'Is that the time? And would you look at that? The rain is beginning to clear.' He gave Cullen a sly smile and patted him on the shoulder as he stood up and presented the chair to Hawke with a grandiose flourish.

'Thanks, Dorian. When I tear down the Tevinter Imperium, I’ll consider putting you on the throne.' Hawke grinned up at him as she sat down and slouched back in her chair.

'You two, play nice,' the mage called out as he walked away. 'Play faster, for the Maker's sake. And mine.'

'It seems every time I run into you you're having a conversation in which you're being mocked,' Hawke remarked. ‘Only it seems to have become contagious, and I feel like I’m being mocked by proxy too.’

'All my conversations involve my being mocked,' he said. 'Not least from you. Would you care for a game?' He shook out his cloak and tried to rid himself of as much rain as he could.

'No,' Hawke said. 'Dorian said you were annoyingly good at this. He'll never admit it to your face, though. Me, I don't like losing.'

'Er, right. It's nice to have some rain, isn't it? Especially after the flood in Crestwood. I mean, I’m glad you’re alive. And back here.' He was losing control of his speech again. Hawke's piercing gaze hadn't lifted off him since she'd sat down, and it was making him tap his fingers on his knee.

He’d been having far too many thoughts that were not at all dissimilar to the scene Dorian had fabricated earlier. He’d planned her return conversation out far more than he wanted to admit, but all his planning had failed piteously, and now here he was, babbling like an idiot.

_The question. Ask the blighted bloody question._

'Really? We're back to talking about the weather?' she asked.

'I--'

'I swear, Cullen, you're the mortal embodiment of awkwardness. And that, coming from me, is really rather sad.' She leaned forward, pushing the pieces out of the way, in a manner reminiscent of a certain afternoon in Kirkwall.

He sighed. ‘I’m not very good at this, am I.’

‘Everyone knows that.’ Hawke laughed. ‘But I like that about you.’

‘Hawke, you know how I...’

He was interrupted by a messenger waving a scroll at Hawke.

‘Another missive for you, Champion.’

Hawke took it from the messenger’s hand with a sigh. The seal on the envelope looked very familiar. Starkhaven. Cullen frowned. He remembered how both the mages and templars of the Kirkwall Circle had gossiped about Sebastian Vael, about how handsome he was. He frowned even more. He picked up a piece from the board and stared at it bleakly.

‘Another one,’ Hawke muttered, breaking the seal and scanning the missive. Her lip pursed. She folded the letter up into quarters and put it in a pocket.

‘Another... proposal?’

‘Some people are persistent,’ she said.

He set the piece back down on the board, in the exact centre of one of the tiles.

‘In any case, Hawke...'

'I'm listening.'

'I have some uh, calibrations to make. If you're not too busy fending off the attentions of princes, perhaps you'd like to take a walk with me.'

'Is it a date?'

This time he didn't blush. 'If you want it to be, it is.' This time, he didn't look away.

It was incredibly endearing to see the mighty Champion and sometime-Viscountess of Kirkwall suddenly forget how to form words. 

‘So,’ he said. ‘That letter from Starkhaven.’

‘You  _are_  jealous.’ Hawke seemed far too happy about that.

‘Would you rather I not be?’

‘No,’ she said. She reached into her pocket and handed it to him. ‘Read it, if you like. It’s not like I care.’

He scanned the letter. ‘He’s... very serious.’

‘That he is. Varric says he’s even preachier than you.’ She pinched his cheek.

Cullen looked at the letter again. It spoke of promises and royalty and princesses and enduring, true love.

'It's a proposal.  _The Viscountess of Kirkwall and the Prince of Starkhaven_. What an unholy alliance. I didn't even think I was still Viscountess.'

'You said no, didn't you? I mean, you're saying no.' The words stumbled off Cullen's lips before he could catch himself. No candlelight here to hide the colour that rose in his cheeks. Hawke eyed him, took her eyes off his for an instant. She didn't miss his flush.

'Does that bother you?'

Cullen started fiddling with his queen, rolling the chesspiece around in his hands. 'I never-- Were you and he -- Were you together?'

The worst happened. A curve started to build at the corners of Hawke's rosy mouth, bending and puckering into a sly grin. 'Does that... bother you?'

The little wooden queen was suddenly the most interesting thing Cullen had ever seen in his life.

‘I could be a princess,’ Hawke was saying. She preened, tipping her chin up loftily. ‘Think about it. I could tell everyone what to do.’

‘You already do,’ Cullen pointed out, trying to mask his discomfort.

'Whatever. Sebastian's an idiot. Six years of puppy dog eyes and waffling on about the Chantry and how chaste and pure he'd become and then he tells me out of nowhere he thinks I would deserve no less than a prince and I should wait for him. Don't you think that's absurd? Why would I ever--'

'Does that -- mean you were seeing each other?'

'Don't be stupid,' she said, filching the note out of his hands and tearing it up. ‘I’m not going to Starkhaven.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Sebastian is a bloody idiot. And so are you, apparently. By the way, you’re soaked.’ She leaned back in her chair and pointed her staff at him, and he felt a gentle warmth dessicating his damp garments. A few years ago, he would have jumped and run, or worse. He sat there and let her power wash over him.

‘Maker,’ Hawke said, her laughter breaking the moment. ‘Your hair. It’s like Kirkwall all over again.’

He put his hand up to where his rain-sodden hair had begun to dry, so carefully coiffed that morning, springing back into tight golden curls that Varric had mocked a million times, and blushed.

 

**ECHOES IN CRYSTAL**

 

Dorian muttered something under his breath. Bull and the Chargers were gathered around the crystal, straining to hear the voices echoing tinnily out of it over the hubbub of the tavern in Skyhold.

'Ugh,' Bull said. 'What was that, Dorian?'

'I said, this is pathetic!'

Krem smashed his mug down. 'You're going to lose this bet, Vint!'

'Seriously,' Bull said, 'I can't believe you thought he could do it. Have you even  _talked_  to Cullen?'

'There are six more hours before the sun goes down,' Dorian said, puffing out his cheeks and letting the air escape. ‘I have faith in our dear Commander. Nobody could possibly be this inept. Oh, and last I checked, you were also a filthy Vint, Aclassi.’

'There'll be six more months before anyone goes down in this relationship,' Krem said, pointing at the scrying crystal, ignoring Dorian’s accusation. 'How'd you get this working, anyway?'

'Secret Tevinter shit,' Dorian said. 'I planted it on the Commander earlier. Clever, clever me.' He flashed a smug row of teeth.

'What are you guys doing?' Varric wandered over to the table.

'Hide it, quick,' Bull said. 'Or we're going to have to read more shitty stories.'

'Aww, c’mon.' The dwarf slid a chair over and made himself room at the table, mostly by shoving away a couple of the lesser Chargers. 'History is important. Future generations have to know the truth.'

'...I sleep better these days. The nightmares aren't how they used to be.'

'Whoa!' Varric almost choked. 'Is that Curly? Is he actually talking to someone? What is this crystal thing?'

'Ha... ha.' Dorian coughed nervously.

'Oh yeah, you mentioned that.' the crystal said. 'Bit of a shitshow, really. You never did tell me exactly what happened.'

' _Hawke?_  Is that Hawke? Are they finally--'

Bull sighed. 'This is just sad. What are they, twelve? I'm about to break that crystal.'

'No!' said Dorian. 'It took me forever to... listen, it's not blood magic. Don't give me that look.'

‘I knew it, you know,’ Varric said. ‘I knew from the start there was a reason she kept wandering off to the Gallows to ‘see if the Knight-Captain has any jobs available’.’

'...abominations at Kinloch took over the Tower. I saw my brothers metamorphose into... constructions of flesh and death. I'd seen demons, but never unfettered and cultivated as those were... and what I did in the visions… I was… cruel… I…'

Varric listened. They all listened.

‘Commander Cullen is a complete fucknut,’ Krem said, sounding impressed.

'Man, that's kind of sad,' Bull said. 'Man gets tortured by demons wearing the face of the girl he has a hopeless forbidden crush on, girl shows up to rescue him, he tells her about all the boners he's always had for her, turns out she’s dating the future king of Ferelden who’s right there listening to him losing his shit, babbling about how they have to murderize all the mages in the Tower… No wonder he's such a headcase. If the King of Ferelden ever comes to visit, I wanna be there.'

'...so my cousin saved you. Pretty nice of her, all things considered.'

'Ooh, Hawke.' Varric clucked. 'Oh. Oh, that's harsh. I've got to write this down.'

'Write what down?' Cassandra demanded from the doorway. 'Are you writing something else, Varric?'

'Suddenly she likes me,' the dwarf muttered. 'Doesn't want to kill me anymore.'

'What are you all listening to? You look very suspicious.'

'Alright, Seeker, have a seat,' Varric grumbled. 'But you're not allowed to open your mouth. You're noisy enough as it is.'

'...About that time in Kirkwall, Hawke...'

Cassandra almost exploded. 'Is that Commander Cullen???'

'Oh yes,' Dorian said. 'The one and only. Who else could be this useless at--'

'Did  _he_  know where the Champion was?' Cassandra demanded.

'No,' Varric said, 'so relax. You don't have to go off and kill him too. Maker knows he's already scared shitless of you. Like all the rest of us.'

'What did he mean, 'that time'? With the Champion?'

'Somebody find the Seeker a chair,' Varric said. 'And a stiff drink.'

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole band of three thing that haunted me all the way from Kirkwall. i swear, it's almost as bad as sea serpents. I apologise for all of it :p


	3. calibrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Make me scream, Commander,' she told him, 'or I'll set your hair pomade on fire.'
> 
> ___
> 
>  
> 
> as penance for all that UST in Kirkwall and the first couple of chapters here, ludicrous amounts of cawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as Cullen says... 'It's about bloody time.'

‘I hate to say it, Vint, but you’re screwed.' Krem grinned and slugged back another mug of ale.

'There's still time,' Dorian said, pushing back an elaborate embroidered sleeve and dragging his cup to his lips. 'I have faith, if not in our Commander, at least in the Champion.'

'I do not,' Varric groaned. 'They've been like this for  _years_.'

'It should count, it should bloody well count,' Dorian muttered. 'If they actually managed to do  _anything_  in the past.'

'That's not what we bet on,' Krem said, smug. 'You said, "Even our dear Commander can manage to bed a woman who so clearly both pities and adores him. It can't possibly take him more than a week."'

'We should-- we should wait,' the crystal said in the uncertain tones of the Commander of the Inquisition.

'No you bloody well shouldn't!' Dorian flopped back in his chair, flinging a hand out and clenching it into a fist. 'You idiots could be dead tomorrow! Andraste, I could die of boredom listening to this. Or old age, take your pick.'

'Thirty more minutes,' Krem noted.

'Yes, thank you, Aclassi.' Dorian threw his hands up in the air.

The two people at the other end of the crystal were doing something that involved a lot of silence.

'Why?' came Hawke's voice, sounding a bit petulant, and a little breathless.

''Yes, why?' Dorian pinched the skin of his brow between his fingers. 'Why, Commander?'

'I just -- I want this to mean, you know, something. You mean a great deal to me, Hawke. I want it to last. I don't think I can stand being interrupted again. I just want us to be... I don't know. Normal. Like whatever it is normal people do. Not running and hiding and stealing furtive moments. I want to do things the proper way.' A pause. 'I want to--'

'You mean like writing love letters, dirty poems, sending posies, that sort of thing.' Hawke's voice was loud, clear, and unimpressed. 'Embroider me a handkerchief.'

'I... I could try. If you really wanted.'

The Iron Bull started to guffaw so hard he almost fell out of his chair.

A pause. A long, awkward pause during which the expression on Hawke's face could only be guessed at.

'How about we play sexy magister, naughty templar instead? On your knees, dog.'

Dorian choked on his wine.

Another pause.

Cullen's voice continued, so resolute it was painful. 'I... I was wondering if you had ever seen an astrarium before.'

'Gods above!' Dorian brought his fist down on the table, enraged.

'Unsurprisingly, I haven't,' Hawke was saying. 'Are you asking me on another date?'

'I... suppose so. That is, if you want to. I--'

Cassandra sighed deeply. 'That is so sweet,' she said. 'Varric! You should write this into that book you wrote about the guardsman.'

'Yes, Seeker. Yes, Seeker. Yes, Seeker. '

Arms crossed, Dorian fumed. Varric and Cassandra were making so much noise they didn’t notice the presence that had crept up on the table.

‘Why, this looks exactly like the crystal I was looking for.’ A hand reached out and snagged Dorian’s crystal off the table. ‘Leliana told me I should find it here. I can’t think why.’

‘No!’ roared Bull.

‘I’m requisitioning it, Bull.’ The Inquisitor flashed the table a grin and sauntered out the door, prize in hand.

‘Frickin’ heralds,’ Bull muttered.

‘I think we can all assume the  _filthy_  Vint owes the next few rounds,’ Krem said happily.

 

**HAWKE**

All of Skyhold was making preparations for the trip to the Western Approach and the fortress of Adamant. Hawke had barely seen Cullen for the last few days. The circles under his eyes were almost black with exhaustion. She was busy herself, making plans with the Inquisitor for her own journey with Stroud.

'Hawke,' came a voice.

'Varric. It's been a while. I heard you were busy with someone.'

'Yeah, Bianca and all, but.’

‘Right,’ she said. ‘You’re not talking about your crossbow right now. How’d that turn out?’

‘Fabulously horrible,’ Varric said. ‘She’ll be joining me shortly. I think I’m glad about that. Other days, I’m not so sure.’

‘Another loose cannon on the team,’ Hawke said. ‘Exactly what we need.’

‘You’re the worst one,’ Varric pointed out. ‘Uh, speaking of loose cannons,’ he added, scratching his chin, ‘I got another letter for you from Choir Boy.’

 _Chantry boys_ , Hawke thought. Shit. Isabela was right. I do have a preference. Briefly, she had let herself be charmed by the displaced prince. For all of half an hour.

Sebastian was unfailingly polite and well-mannered and oh-so-good on the surface, but there was an element of ruthlessness beneath his shiny white veneer. His goals and Starkhaven always came first. And that, Hawke suspected, was a little too close to her own nature.

Cullen, on the other hand, was definitely what Hawke could only describe as a bit rough around the edges. Perhaps somewhat like herself. He yelled at his men in the yard, had sometimes less tact than Hawke herself did (a fact frightening in itself), particularly when dealing with the vagaries of nobles and anything related to the grand game. Yet when he was faced with suffering and hurt he softened. He couldn't stand to see people in pain. He took the edge off her aloofness.

He had also been unbearably chaste. Isabela had joked about enjoying their first two-second pop. Virgins, the pirate had said, were fun to break in. Hawke had been thinking about that a lot.

Hawke was silent. ‘You know, Sebastian is…’ she said, after a long pause. ‘It’s not like I hate him. But I made a horrid Viscountess. Just ask our Seneschal. Hmm. Maybe I  _will_ become Princess of Starkhaven, just to see Bran’s face.’

She caught sight of Varric’s glare. ‘Just kidding. I wouldn’t be too upset if those letters just happened to fall into the fire.’

‘Right. Incidentally, Curly? You ever going to tell me about what exactly happened in Kirkwall?’

‘Varric, what are you talking about? You made fun of me about it in Kirkwall,’ she pointed out. ‘A lot.’ As had Isabela, she wanted to add, but that old wound was still raw. 'You wrote books about it.'

‘Yeah, because you kept going over to the Gallows to ogle him. I mean, looking at the two of you, I didn’t ever think it would get anywhere. If I had known, I would have told Anders so he could have blown up the Gallows instead and saved me having to clean up all that red lyrium shit.’

‘I ogled him from afar.’ Hawke caught Varric’s eye. ‘Fine, and then when I got nearer, I ogled him from up close. He looked even better. His hair is so pretty now, Varric.’

'I didn't think you actually cared. Isabela thought you just wanted to bang him because he had Chantry-boy hangups about banging you. I thought he was too prudish to do it. You really are an unstoppable force of sexual predation.’

‘Maybe I just want to see how many times I can get him to say ‘Maker’s breath’.’

‘Don't tell me.’ He tapped his fingers on his chin. 'How was the astrarium, anyway?'

He seemed unable to stop himself from grinning.

Hawke gave him a dark look. 'How did you know about that?'

'Cullen said so,' he said nonchalantly.

'Cullen's got a fat mouth.' She scowled, but her expression lifted into something wistful. 'It was the most excited I've ever seen him get about anything, aside from me. Did you know the seventh star of Bellitanus has no less than six planets orbiting it? And that one of them is red just before dawn? And when the fourth hits perihelion you can--'

' _Don't_  tell me any more. I'm good.' 

He paused. 'Incidentally, Hawke? ' _Be seeing you.'_ That's a  _shitty_  letter. Almost up there with ' _It's been fun. Don't wait for me_.'

‘You know, Varric, you talk far too much. If we don’t change the subject, I might have to start playing that old favourite, punch-a-friend.’

 

 

 **ADAMANT**  

The next time he saw her, it was at Adamant.

 

He saw Hawke fall through the rent in the sky after the Inquisitor, and the gates of his heart shattered. Pain shot through him. All he could think of was her.

All the things he had left unsaid. All the things he had thought he'd time to say. How much time they had wasted.

Numb, Cullen forced himself back to the madness at hand. His troops were scattered, some on the floor, groaning. He helped them up, had them treated, all in a daze. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. The Inquisitor. Varric. But where was Hawke?

'Where is...'

Varric shook his head. 'I don't know,' the dwarf said in a choked voice.

Cullen refused to believe it. 'No,' he said. 'She'll come back.'

In the silence that followed, Varric turned his head away. Cullen kept his head up, looking through the storm, looking at the breach in the sky, turning a simple steel ring around his fingers.

 

***

 

He stood until his legs began to cramp.  _I am getting old,_  he thought. He had stood vigil enough that it should have been nothing. But that life was older than him.

And there was movement. 

A dark-haired figure, struggling to stand in the sandstorm. Wordlessly, Cullen ran to her.

Hawke half-stumbled as she made her way towards the fortress. Her shoulders drooped. The very frame of her body seemed weighted down by more than gravity. Blood stained her face, the remnants of her broken armour, and he couldn’t tell if it was hers.

He had never seen her look so fragile and worn, not after the Arishok, not after battling Meredith. Now she was... tired. Hawke, tired. Still, she looked up, pinched his cheek and cracked a half-smile.

‘I’m glad you didn’t bugger off back to Skyhold,’ she managed before slumping into him. She had never felt so insubstantial in his arms.

‘Don’t talk,’ he said. Hawke was mumbling something incoherent and giggling to herself. He half-carried her back inside the keep, where Varric came running. Everyone, really, came running.

 

***

 

Cullen was walking back from dinner that night when Hawke slipped out of the shadows in front of him. He had been preoccupied, mainly with thoughts of her, and when he saw her he was glad the firelight and shadows hid the colour that rose to his cheeks.

‘Commander Rutherford,’ she said.

‘You should be resting,’ he said, aggrieved.

She waved him off. ‘First Enchanter Vivienne healed me. She's rather fabulous, don't you think? She did a marvellous job of patching me up. I'm perfectly fine.'

‘No, you’re...’

'She also said, "Get on with it, _darling."_ Or was it "get it on"? Whatever.'

She stepped closer. ‘Every time we hesitate, Cullen, we regret it. Especially you.’ She kissed him, putting all the pent-up passion of a decade into her lips, her hand pressing against the back of his neck. What could he do but return the heat of her affections? He had waited so long, and then he had almost lost her again. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, even torn and bruised as she had stumbled out of the Fade, and he wanted her, oh he wanted her.

‘I thought you were gone,’ he whispered. There was a hollow ache in his heart when he said it.

‘You should’ve had more faith.’ She laughed, but there was a weariness that hadn’t been there before. ‘I thought you believed in me.’

‘But...’ and then his words trailed off and he pulled her into his arms, pressing his forehead down against hers. Ever since he had met her in Kirkwall she had filled a part of him he had thought abandoned and empty. What else, really, was there to say? 

‘I love you,’ he said. 

‘I know,’ Hawke said. Her fingers curled in his, entwined. She pulled him with her. He followed, realising she was leading him to his room, and then when she faltered and looked about her, he laughed and led the way. Through it all his heart hammered against his ribcage, dying to escape, and his hand closed around hers as though he would never let it go.

There was one advantage to being Commander of the Inquisition, and that was having a room of his own. He held her hand in his and led her through the twisting corridors to the room he’d been assigned by the Inquisitor.

He wondered at his own steadiness. There was no hurt anymore, just a blissful relief, the calm one felt without dreams. He wanted to be with her, without thought, without words, two people finding solace before the inevitable.

He opened the door and let her in.

Hawke meandered over to his window and pursed her lips. ‘I have to find Bethany,’ she said. 'I have to go to Weisshaupt.'

Cullen had been about to say the Wardens could damn well handle it, suggest she let another go, a messenger,  _Jim_ , anyone – they had so many troops now, most of whom would have been willing to lay their lives down for the Inquisition, but when he saw her face the suggestion died on his lips.

‘I... should have listened to our mother and not let Beth go to the Deep Roads with us,’ she said, balling her hands into white-knuckled fists. ‘This is my only chance to make things right.’

He had so many duties, so many people to look after, and she was just Hawke, pinging from mad adventure to mad adventure. Weisshaupt. It was unbearably far, weeks of travel even from the Western Approach. He could not abandon the Inquisition, not now. Not when they were so close to the end.

He had to believe in something. Why not this? Why not her? Why not... him? Why now?

‘You’re not going on your own, are you?’ he asked, putting a finger under her chin so she looked up at him.

She shrugged. ‘You need all the help you can get.’

‘I’ll despatch soldiers with you.’

‘Absolutely not. They’re just going to get in the way. I’m good at keeping out of sight.’

‘On a horse?’

‘Trust me,’ she said. ‘I’m still alive.’ She tossed her hair. ‘Despite all the stupid things I’ve done. I must have quite a knack for it.’

He had had her back for the lesser part of a day, and now he was losing hold of her again.

'I'm the one that leaves,' Hawke said. ‘I’m the one who goes places and leaves people behind. But I want to stay.’

She took a step backward and swivelled to face the vista below.

He knew he could never tell her not to go, to abandon her sister. Instead he stepped closer to her, closing the distance between them, standing beside her. Hawke put her face in her hands, and to his shock he saw water spilling over her caged fingers.

Cullen knew he hid a soft heart beneath his layers of steel. Yet tears usually failed to move him one way or the other, perhaps because he had never wept even after the Circle. Here, with Hawke, hiding her face from him, he felt a stab of pain in his own heart. She, who had continued saving the inhabitants of Kirkwall even the day after her mother’s death – who had lost her brother on the long trip to Kirkwall, only to be denied entry, who had lost her sister, her father. Tears from her were wounds.

He didn’t tell her to stop. He put his arms around her, forming a circle around her, letting her hide her eyes until she put her hands down and buried her face in his chest. He held her until her shoulders stopped heaving.

‘I’ll go,’ she said, stepping back a little and looking up at him, her voice ragged. ‘But before I go, I want to… I…’ She took his hands in hers. ‘Be with me.’ Her grip grew firmer. ‘No fairytale ending for us, but sometimes this is all we get. A glimmer of a dream. Right?’

She touched his face. ‘I missed you. A little.’

In answer, he kissed her where the kohl that dotted her eyes had run, where the tears had streaked her face with salt.

She sat down on the bed, her hands going to the buttons of her shirt.

‘Let me,’ he said, kneeling in front of her. He traced the line of her collarbones with his fingers, over old scars, across the soft curve of her breasts. He kissed her in the hollow there.

‘Are you sure you’ve never been with anyone else?’ she asked, her voice ragged, her breath quickening. ‘You’re remarkably… assured.’

‘I have an imagination,’ he said, looking up at her for a second before continuing his voyage. ‘And, well, you know, Varric’s books, right?’ And that thing he was resolved not to mention, and most definitely not to her.

What had the first page said? _Speaking in tongues._

‘You didn’t...?’

‘It was only ever you,’ he said.

Hawke suddenly went a very deep shade of red. He had no idea what she was thinking. He ran his fingers down the side of her cheek.

The old doubts rose. ‘Are you sure you want to... I mean, I don’t know what happened to you in the Fade, but Varric said... I mean, if you’re not feeling...’

‘Dear Knight-Commander, dear Cullen, dearest, sweetest, most uselessly-awkward Knight-Captain, please stop talking,’ Hawke said, and she silenced him with a kiss that was everything he had dreamt of, forever. Always.

He laughed and brought her knees up, letting her press them against either side of his body. She shifted herself closer to him, and suddenly Cullen was rather eager to pull her tunic off. The buttons came undone under his fingers, and Hawke raised her arms so he could lift it off. She undid her breastband herself, impatient, and suddenly she was sitting half-naked before him, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, more glorious than any of his memories.

Old memories surfaced briefly. All the hurt from Kirkwall, that brief moment in the Gallows, when he had not quite yet remembered how to be himself. He put those all away, closed the cage. There was no hesitation now.

He kissed her on her breasts, her stomach, his hands sliding lower to unfasten the clasps there too. Hawke just gazed at him with parted lips, her eyes on his.

‘I...’ he said slowly, ‘I want to make right what was defiled and corrupted in me, in Kinloch. I suppose I want to create something beautiful, out of all the pain.’

Hawke tilted her head to one side. ‘You’re not talking about babies, are you?’

Realisation flooded over him. He was going bright red again. ‘Maker, no,’ he said. ‘I mean, well, not now. I mean, I hadn’t even thought...’

‘Sorry,’ she said, laughing. ‘I know what you meant. Let me help.’

She practically tore his shirt off before shimmying out of her trousers. Then she was kissing him, running her hands over the muscles of his chest. His hands ran over her thighs tentatively, moving closer to the delicate spot between, damp for him.

A wriggle, a quick movement, and Hawke had her smallclothes off. She sat with her legs pressed together, saying nothing.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, bringing his face closer to hers, staring at her with a worried crease in his brow. He could have fallen forever into the blue of her eyes.

‘I haven’t been with anyone in a long time,’ she said.

Cullen rose from where he was kneeling and sat down on the edge of the bed, next to her. ‘Well, I haven’t... ever... since... Are you – Do you want to wait?’

‘ _No_ ,’ she said. ‘I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?’

‘I would never hurt you,’ he said, facing her.

‘I know,’ she said. She reached out to pull him closer, bringing his hand back to her body.

Cullen ran his hands over her, his lips over hers, stroking every inch of her skin until the tension in her ebbed away and she pulled him down over her, on her back. She tugged at his trousers, loosening the stays, letting her hand run over the hardness she found there, provoking a groan from him.

He got the rest of his clothing off at that.

They had never been completely divested of clothing before. Their trysts in Kirkwall, such as they were, had been forcibly brief, and always partially-clothed.

He stroked her face and kissed her, and ran his hand down to her smooth belly, the little dip above her hip, her thigh, her knee, and slowly, as nervous as he had been the first time, he lifted her top knee towards him and out, then the other. She lay exposed on the bed, spread open for him, her breath ragged.

The sight of her made something primal rise in him. He lowered his head between her legs and tasted her with his tongue. Musky with excitement, sweet with desire. He closed his mouth over her and kissed her, slipping his tongue between the soft layers of flesh nestled there. Her body moved against and towards him as she moaned. He shut his eyes and breathed her in, lost in her.

The second page had mentioned fingers.

Hawke gasped in surprise when he slid one, then another, inside her. Her hand caught in his hair. He did what he was doing until she shuddered and pushed him back. ‘I can…’ she breathed, her sentences disjointed, ‘do the same for you… We kind of got interrupted last time… I owe you... Oh.’

He wasn’t done. ‘You do owe me. But let me have this moment,’ he said, caressing her softly with his fingers, his tongue, his mouth, kissing her, everywhere.

‘I want you,’ she whispered. ‘I need you inside me.’

He moved up the bed and, slightly nervously, positioned himself above her. Her hand reached down and found him and guided him to the hot damp spot waiting for him.

'Are you sure?’ he asked, stroking her cheek. ‘You only have to ask, and I’ll stop.’

'No! I mean, I’m sure.' Hawke said.

'I should have kissed you the first time I saw you in the Gallows,' he murmured. He kissed her as he said it. 'A thousand times over I should have kissed you. I should have told you over and over how I felt. I love you.'

'You said that,' she managed, her voice choked. 'I need you.  _Now_.'

He lowered himself down and pushed against that tight little ring of resistance until it gave way and he sank partway into her. She gasped again. She moaned, she sobbed. A noise formed in his throat. It was this closeness he had tasted only once in his life before, as near to her as two souls could ever be. Buried inside her, he sighed and kissed her, and said her name.

She felt so warm, so soft, so firm. Silk, the smoothest, softest silk wrapped around him, pulsating.

‘Oh,’ Hawke moaned, her eyes shut, her body stiffening under him. She put her hands on his shoulders.

He stopped immediately, though his body screamed at him. ‘I’m sorry, I...’

She put a finger over his lips. ‘Oh Maker,’ she said, ‘you’re... Oh. Maker. Just give me a moment. You feel so good,’ she whispered, gripping his shoulders.

If there was anyone blessed with self-control, it was him. All that had happened to him had given him strength of resolve, without which he would have lost his sanity. He didn’t move, though the urge was almost unbearable. How long he’d waited to be with her, closer than anything he could ever have imagined. The visions had given him no part of the truth. There was nothing but joy.

He wanted to bury himself to the hilt in her, to be melded with her as one, make her his. Instead he kissed her and stroked her cheek gently until the very last vestiges of tension left her. She raised her hips and wrapped her legs around him, and with her hand, pulled at him. He knew what she wanted. He moved inside her, and the movement drove him wild, but he ground his teeth and calmed his ardour. He had faced down demons every night in his nightmares. He could control the fever that crept over him. He had waited years for this moment.

He would…

Hawke wriggled against him and everything shifted. Inside.

He thought he might have screamed, but surely that noise wasn’t him, because he was fine, he was going to make it perfect for her, he could…

‘Maker's breath!’ Hawke said, as he, Commander Cullen Rutherford, unbroken even in the tower, the Gallows, the very nonpareil of breaking the lyrium chain, shuddered violently and lost every pretense of control. ‘Did you just…’ She started laughing, to his mortification.

‘I, uh, it’s been a long time… I wasn’t lying.’ He could hardly get the words out. Something in his groin felt like a ball of fire.

Hawke just laughed harder, all her misery now quite gone. ‘You… were amazing, Commander.’

‘Hawke!’

She wouldn’t stop. Cullen rolled over and buried his head in his hands. ‘Oh, Maker. I’m sorry.’

Finally she got a hold of herself. ‘How very adorable,’ she said. ‘Let’s see what we can do to… fix that.’

‘But I can’t… I mean, I can’t yet… I… ugh.’ Cullen thought he was going to die. He wanted to die.

‘I know,’ Hawke said. ‘So… You can go back to doing what you were doing before. You were surprisingly good at it.’ She grinned, and leaned back against the pillows, and suddenly Cullen smiled.

And did his duty.

 

'So,' she said, when she was sated and limp in his arms and he felt human again, 'really, Varric's books? You had them in your desk at the Gallows? Don't think I don't remember that last  _meeting_ we had before I left. I asked where you learned--'

He flushed. 'You remember that?' He groaned. 'That was... something else.'

She eyeballed him.

'Uh... I received a package. From, er. Your pirate friend. The--' He made a vague motion in front of his chest, and then went an even brighter red. 'The one with... the headscarf.'

' _Isabela?_ ' Hawke blinked. 'She... Did she...'

'She sent me a collection of notes and, er, ah... drawings. Called _A Guide to the Champion: An Instructional Manual.'_ He could feel his cheeks burning like twin flames. 'She wrote a short letter. It said... that it was her gift to you.'

'Where is it?'

'I didn't bring it!'

'It's in your desk at Skyhold?'

Cullen refused to answer that.

'Oh, I'll read it one way or another, Commander.'

Hawke’s eyes were distant for a moment. ‘I used to tell her everything,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘I’ll… I should write her.’

‘Maybe you should get someone else to write for you,’ Cullen told her.

‘What’s wrong with my notes?’

Cullen sighed. Shortly life began to spring back into his aching loins. Hawke noticed immediately, of course. She dragged him up and wrapped her arms and legs around him, touching his face, caressing his skin, kissing him, until he slid down into her again. Their bodies crashed together.

Her arms tightened around him, pulling him closer. He had almost lost all conscious thought aside from the urge not to hurt her. He moved at the speed she wanted, her hand pulling at his back, back and forth a couple of times, steadily increasing his pace until she suddenly shuddered and writhed under him.

‘Was that...’ he began, uncertain. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No,’ she breathed. ‘No, I want…’ She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. Her legs tightened around him and pulled him deeper than he thought he could be. ‘You feel so good. You’re so… deep. Oh, Maker. Harder,' she said.

'I don't want to hurt you,' he said.

'Make me scream, Commander,' she told him, 'or I'll set your hair pomade on fire.'

He began making love to her in earnest, half-delirious with pleasure so intense it was driving him crazy. The longer and faster he made his strokes, the more she moaned. He pulled himself practically the whole way out of her, amazed that he hadn’t lost control yet, pausing to look at her. Her eyes shot open.

‘You tease,’ she whispered. She pressed her feet against the backs of his thighs, urging him closer. He caught her hand, linked his fingers through hers, never wanted to let that hand go.

He sank down into her, kissing her furiously, hips forcing her deep into the bed, further and harder and deeper into her until he could no longer delay the inevitable. And he didn't want to. He wanted to claim her, mark her, be hers forever, this proud, wild, beautiful thing that he belonged to.

‘Hawke,’ he groaned. ‘I can’t—‘

‘Cullen, Cullen,  _Cullen._ ’ Her hands gripped him, she shuddered beneath him, she sobbed his name.

A couple more thrusts, each more desperate than the last, and he crushed her down beneath him and shuddered as he found release in her body. The force of it almost hurt. Though barely lucid, he reached down and found the little knot of flesh just over the entrance he still filled, and she writhed again. The sounds she made drove him wild.

‘Oh,’ she moaned. ‘Oh, harder, faster.’ Her muscles clenched around him, and as he slid his fingers against her more decisively, he felt her contract again and again so fast she was just one long quiver of agony and ecstasy. Everything was on fire, but he stayed there, inside her, pleasing her until she cried out and pushed his hand away, shaking beneath him and burying her head in the crook of his neck.

‘I love you,’ he said in her ear, still in her. ‘I’ve never… never felt anything like this.’

‘I love you too,’ Hawke said, her breath still coming in uneven spurts. ‘Wait, oh, shit. I said that.’

‘So you did,’ he said, pressing his forehead against hers. ‘It’s about bloody time.’ But his heart seemed to be dissolving, all the hard knots in it finally wearing away.

He squeezed her into a long embrace. ‘Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?’ She had her face buried in his chest.

At that she turned her head up to face him. ‘Not at all,’ she said ‘It was amazing. Not like it was your  _first_  time, was it _?_  Never had a naughty apostate scream your name on your desk in the Gallows? Ooh, Knight-Captain.’

‘Are you making fun of me again?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’ She flashed him a grin that was all cheek. ‘But this last time… That was something.’

‘Oh. Er, good. I’m glad.’ He was blushing. He could feel it.

‘So you think this is good for curing nightmares and bad visions?’ Hawke asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he murmured. ‘I didn’t have any just then. Maybe we should try again? Just to be sure.’ He smiled.

She looked at him, startled. ‘Are you ready again?’

He smiled. ‘I could be,’ he said. ‘Soon, I think.’

They lay like that for a while. Hawke shifted restlessly.

‘I have your seed in me,’ she said in wonder, pressing her forehead against his. She caught sight of his suddenly aghast expression and laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I was prepared. Besides, there’s probably nothing left in you. Might hurt a little the next time.’

She pushed his arm off and slipped down lower on the bed, until Cullen realized what she was planning. Her mouth slipped over him, a perfect ring, until he started to feel himself aroused again.

Her mouth lifted off him, to his distress, and she slid down on him. He almost died. Everything half-hurt from ecstasy. He was going to die. If he had to die, let it be so. He made a wordless noise as she moved atop him.

He sat up, holding her so he was kneeling into her, and began to match her movements, a dance of frantic gasps and half-caught sighs. She shuddered against him again, and he was ploughing her up against the headboard, the wall, letting all the long years drive him into her, over and again until they were both almost sobbing.

For a moment he felt a release so intense he was no longer lucid. Things seemed to be exploding behind his eyelids. The tower, Kinloch, the voices and hands and whispers in the night – nothing. Gone. Just a warm glow that spread through him and suffused him with... what? Hope, perhaps.

He came so hard that she was right. It hurt a little, and he thought he might have made some noises he had never thought himself capable of producing.

For a moment they both knelt there, shuddering.

‘Oh, Maker,’ Hawke said. She pulled him back down onto the bed so they were entangled in each other’s arms again. ‘Oh. Maker’s breath. Now I know why you say that all the time. Maker’s bloody breath.’

‘Was it… good?’ he asked.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, smiling with her teeth. ‘Didn’t you feel me shaking?’

‘I did,’ he said, pulling her close and nuzzling her cheek with his. ‘According to Varric’s books, and, uh, your... manual... that means it’s a good thing. Right?’

‘Are you sure you’ve never been with anyone else?’ she asked again, pinching his cheek.

‘I swear,’ he laughed, raising his head to look at her. He loved looking at her, the mischievous sparkle that was almost always in her eyes, her crooked, wicked smile. It was infectious. Even for him.

‘Maker’s balls,’ she said. ‘You stretched me so wide, filled me so deep. I didn’t think I could take you all in for a while there.’

‘Is that a bad thing?’ he asked.

‘Maker’s tits, no,’ Hawke said promptly. ‘It’s almost a crime that your hidden blessings haven’t been properly harnessed before. Though riding a horse isn’t going to be too much fun tomorrow.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think… I mean…’ He tightened his arms around her.

‘Don’t feel bad,’ she said. ‘I just had the most amazing time of my life. Even if I’ll be walking funny for the next few days.’ She grinned.

‘I don’t like the thought of hurting you,’ he said. ‘You should have stopped me.’

‘Shh,’ she said, silencing him with her lips. When she pulled away, she said, ‘I can’t believe you lasted so long the other times.’

‘Aside from that one rather embarrassing moment, possibly the most important moment of my life, unless we count the... other one, I’ve always been good at controlling my urges,’ he said. ‘It’s the only reason I survived the Circle. If I hadn’t, I would have died with the others.’

His entire life had been about restraint and self-denial. From the moment he'd stepped through the Order's gates he'd been denying himself. Perhaps even before. With Hawke he'd been able to let go for the first time. She had taken his hand and opened it, and set him free.

‘How do I find you again?’ he asked. ‘After you leave. This can’t be just… this once.’

‘I’ll be coming back for you, Commander, especially after that performance. Besides, you know where I live.’

He smiled, tracing her chin with his thumb. ‘You really did like it.’

‘You really do ask the stupidest questions,’ she told him.

 

**HAWKE**

Hawke stirred to find Cullen snoring gently, mouth slightly agape. She gazed at the angles of his high cheekbones, the scar that marred his lips, his long eyelashes. How could anyone so attractive be so utterly oblivious? Not that she was complaining. What he’d done to her the night before had left her sore but sated, pushed her so far she had forgotten her name. He had made helpless, desperate love to her, over and over again, and she had revelled in every ardent touch and kiss and surge.

She should write Isabela. She owed her. Maybe even an entire paragraph.

The dull ache between her legs was a pleasant reminder of his size and prowess. She’d been with men who had been passionate, almost savage, with her, but none of them had cared about her needs while plundering her, and they had left her empty and unsatisfied. None of them had cared about her the way Cullen did. He lived to please others. Hawke had no question he would throw down his life in a heartbeat to save her.

 _It was only ever you._  His capacity for devotion almost frightened her. She had kept everyone at a distance for so long, finding solace only in the briefest and most mindless trysts. With lips and tongue and fingers that trailed over her skin, quiet with that steady smile, he had made her forget them all.

Solid. It was the best description she had for him. Solid, reliable, steadfast. Things that Hawke thought perhaps her life could stand to have a little more of. Not to mention a broad chest and arms that could toss her around like a sack of produce.

And Maker, he was endowed with some particularly specific talents. Hawke felt a smug smile creep over her lips.

Who cared if she had to be carried all the way to Weisshaupt. The witch had said,  _fly,_  and she bloody well would if she had to. She slid her hand down Cullen's body and found what she was looking for. Long, firm strokes made him stir and groan. Weisshaupt was bloody far, and she planned to take full advantage of Cullen's gifts while she had them.

'Hawke,' he mumbled. 'Oh. I-- Ooh.'

'Why, good morning, Commander.' Hawke felt him harden and kicked the bedclothes off him. The morning light gave her ample opportunity to admire his physique.

'Cullen, do you really not know you're hot?' she asked as she straddled him. ‘Or are you just pretending to be modest and oblivious?’

'I don't really think about those things,' he said. He put his hands on her waist and held her. His eyes looked upon her adoringly, as though she infused him with delight.

'Lying’s a sin, Commander,' Hawke said. 'Leliana informed me that Orlesian dignitaries who stop by Skyhold always make a point of dropping by your office.'

Cullen made a face. 'Those moments of my life comprise some of the worst.'

'So you don't like having your bottom pinched by fawning sycophants.'

'Would you? I hardly think they would be alive.'

'Point,' she admitted.

'Hawke, I just don't really care about appearances. There are any number of attractive people out there. Half of the ones I knew turned into abominations, or hurt others, or...'

'Oh, you don't think I'm attractive?' She couldn't help poking at him gently.

'No! I mean, yes! Stop torturing me!' He raised himself up on the backs of his elbows. 'I think you're beautiful. But it's not just because you look, uh--'

His gaze slid over her body. His fingers traced all the scars she had earned, by blood and fire, by love. 'Incredible, actually.'

She felt him harden under her again.

'See,' he murmured.

Hawke had another question in her head. It had been fomenting in her thoughts for a while, and now it snaked down to her mouth and burned on her lips. She shouldn’t–-It popped out anyway. 'How about my cousin? You know, the Warden. '

Cullen groaned. 'Why must we... Look, Hawke, I was really young, possibly even more naive, and she was one of the only mages I had ever met who didn't either hate me or act like a wanton to curry favour... I don't know. Even as an apprentice she’d spend her time researching the Blight, ways to end it, things outside the pettiness of the Circle. She was above the gossip of the other apprentices. That’s what I admired about her.'

He paused. 'I’m not surprised she was the one to kill the archdemon.'

Hawke made a noise before she could stop herself. Cullen was too busy talking to notice.

He sighed. 'Last time I saw her, I wasn't in a good way. I've said things I wish I could take back and burn.'

'Well, that makes two of us. I walk around all day spitting out the taste of foot in my mouth,' Hawke said. She settled over him, guided him inside her. A strangled sound escaped him. She paused. 'You like strong women. Me, Solona... Mmmm. Meredith. Kirkwall always wondered how you got promoted so young.’

'Mere...' Cullen looked like he had been hit by a cart. He sat up and almost threw her off him, but Hawke moved, and he choked on his protests.

‘I should stop torturing you. I’m sorry.’ She didn’t sound it a whit.

Cullen sighed and flipped her down onto the bed so he was lying on top of her, elbows on either side of her shoulders, hands on the sides of her face. His palms were warm against her temples. Somehow he had managed the manoeuvre carefully enough that he was still inside her. He was also still talking. Hawke was impressed.

‘Don’t be. I find myself relieved, being honest with you, that is. I’ve never been able to talk about any of this with... anyone, really,’ he said.

‘Meredith used to be a strong leader,’ he mused. ‘I looked up to her when I first came to Kirkwall. I had respect for her. I’ve always wished I could have helped her.’

‘Well, she certainly gave us a bruising,’ Hawke said. She traced a finger over the scar on his lip. ‘Say, where did you get th...’

He caught her finger and kissed it. ‘But no, you’re right. I’ve always wanted someone who could be my equal. Or more.’

‘Kind of hard, when you’re the Commander of one of the largest armies in Thedas,’ Hawke said. She could think of other things that were also hard, and talking too much. 

He smiled. ‘And you were teasing me about the serving girl. How inappropriate would that have been?’ He lost his composure as she moved against him.

‘Well, I can still kick your ass, Commander,’ she said, ‘even if you do feel like you’re made of bricks.’

He leaned over so his nose touched hers, and looked down into her eyes, and all the love was there for her to read, and she was disarmed.

‘That you can,’ he admitted, still smiling. ‘And that makes it even better, doesn’t it? Besides, you’re the Champion. You outrank me. I think. So you’re the one being... mmm... inappropriate. Wait, are you still...?’

‘I don’t have the foggiest idea,’ she said, while he distracted her with the lean, muscular drag of his body, and some of her words came out half-muddled as she felt the entire girth and length of him fill her completely.

‘Uh... Nobody ever told me much about Championing. Maybe Meredith just pulled that title out of her hat. This political rot is half the reason I ran away from Kirkwall. Stupid mages, idiot templars--’ and she gasped as he reached down and slid a finger hard against her at the same time that he thrust up and into her. Deep, hard, the way she liked it.

That damnable finger combined with the overwhelming sensation of the Commander of the Inquisition rammed up all the way between her legs made her scream, and Maker, she felt so complete that another little pull of his fingers had her coming undone beneath him.

When she opened her eyes again, he was still moving inside her, giving her an infuriating half-smirk of a smile. Bossy bloody Commander, finally manifesting. All that training he did was definitely worth it. His stamina was absurd. Gods, she definitely owed Isabela that bloody letter. Maybe an entire essay, a novel, a... Cullen looked far too pleased with himself. She ruined it for him by grinding her hips against him and making him groan.

She wanted to know, now, while he was most vulnerable, while she was capable of speech. She wanted to ask him so many things. She wanted a lifetime to do it. They had a morning.

‘Cullen, where did you get that scar? You’ve avoided the question three times now. Maybe more.’

He glanced away. ‘Uh...’

Hawke put her face in his line of vision. 'Blood magic?'

‘I... cut myself. Shaving.’

At that, Hawke started to laugh so hard and so long Cullen groaned, flopped down on her and buried his face in her neck.

‘I’m going to tell Varric,’ she gasped.

‘No!’

‘What in the Fade did you use, a chopping knife?’

‘I certainly did not!’

‘By Maferath, you used your sword, didn’t you.’

He went so silent she started to laugh again. After she was done, her eyes still crinkled with laughter, she fondled the scar with her finger and said, ‘Cullen Stanton Rutherford, you are the best thing that’s ever come into my world.’ Her grin was expectedly wicked.

She tightened her legs around his hips. 'Now come into my world again.'

And the weight of him atop her and the way he looked at her and the sweet stretch of him made her kiss him.

And Cullen was very good at doing what he was told to do.

  

 **CULLEN**  

He didn't know what page he was on. Three, four, five, somewhere in the blasted book. He had her on her knees, face pressed into the pillows, crying his name under him, and he was thrusting into her with a force he hadn't thought she could ever take. But when he slowed his pace she turned and glared at him so hard he shoved himself into her again and again and pushed the small of her back down, into the mattress so her hips lifted up and she was all there for him. It was not making love, it was fucking, unfettered and free, and it felt so unbearably good to be so _bad_. All the long denials and whispers of sin and _don’t fuck mages_ and… She cried out and convulsed beneath him. Oh, fuck, fuck,  _fuck_  the Chantry. She shook, she shuddered, everything tightened around him and he came.

Coming again hurt so hard he almost wished himself dead.

Hawke, still panting, peered over her shoulder at him and gave him that look she got when she had just had a particularly frightening thought. She reached down low with her hand, and he felt the inimitable flow of healing magic seep into his veins. All of them. Oh, _gods._

'Maker,' he managed.

'We could go on all morning,' Hawke pointed out.

'Maker's breath.'

'Oh, _now_ you like magic.'

When he regained coherence, a thought hovered in his mind. 'You... seemed embarrassed. When I said it had only been you.’

That brilliant shade of red again. She was avoiding his gaze.

‘Do I dare ask?’ He swallowed. He was thinking of the Starkhaven prince again, the way he’d once seen her look at him. The way he had looked at her. He had offered her a kingdom.

‘I went to the Rose,’ Hawke said very slowly. ‘That night we were interrupted.’

Cullen sputtered. ‘What?’

‘I, went, to--’

‘I heard you the first time,’ he said.

‘I thought I was never going to see you again,’ she said, wincing. ‘I thought if I stayed away the Seekers would leave you alone. I didn’t want you to end up in any trouble. I’m tired of people getting hurt because of me.’

He wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

‘I called your name,’ she told him. ‘I pretended it was you.’

‘I’m... confused,’ Cullen said, putting his head in his hands.

‘I needed you,’ Hawke said.

‘Did it, uh, help?’

She laughed. ‘I ended up coming all the way out here to find the real thing, didn’t I?’

After a moment, he sighed. Hawke looked at him, her brow furrowed. ‘Are you angry?’ she asked.

He shook his head. It didn’t matter.

‘I,’ he said, smoothing the furrows away with his thumb, ‘will make you forget you ever had to do that.’

Her face broke into a smile. ‘I think it’s my turn,’ she whispered, and she slipped down and did what she had been interrupted in doing all those years ago.

 

And he was almost perfectly content, lying in the bed with her arms locked around him. The night before, she had actually  _said the words_. He wanted to hear her say them again, but he was wiser than that, and he settled for playing them back in his head.

He wanted to ask the question. Instead his mouth came out with another one.

'Why on earth did you stay behind in the Fade?'

'Ah,' Hawke said, looking a little contrite. 'I thought they said the big spider thing was an archdemon.'

'Only you would think that an appropriate reason.'

'I always wanted to kill one. The red lyrium one ran away.'

'Why do you...'

'Never mind,' she told him. 'It's a long story.'

‘What happened to you in the Fade?’ He wound a strand of her hair around his finger, propping his head up on his other hand, revelling in the warmth of her body against his.

‘Perhaps I’ll be ready to tell that story one day,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t... I don’t know. My mind unravels slightly when I think about it.’

Of all people, he knew when best to leave the darkness alone.

‘I killed something,’ Hawke said, more forthcoming by nature than him, unable as ever to avoid filling a silence. ‘Whether it was what I thought I saw, or part of myself, or something that never existed at all – it’s gone. That’s all I know.’

He understood.

'It was big,' Hawke pointed out. 'Almost an honorary archdemon. I want credit for that.'

She added, ‘I  _fucking hate spiders_.’

He laughed. ‘They seem to like you.’ He smoothed the hair away from her forehead. ‘If you ever want to talk about it,’ he said, ‘I’ll be here.’

She smiled. ‘Someday.’ She stretched, unfurling her limbs.

Something on his bedside table caught her eye. ‘What is that?’ she asked. ‘Is geology another of your secret passions now?’

He followed her gaze to the crystal. ‘Oh. I don’t know, exactly. I found it in my pocket. I don't quite remember picking it up, but I thought the crystalline structure was rather interesting. Almost like lyrium but not--'

Hawke laughed. ‘You and rocks and books and stars and chess.’

He kissed her to shut her up, an effort that succeeded for all of a couple of minutes.

‘You know, I don’t smell lyrium on you anymore, Cullen.’

He paused and grimaced. ‘I never told you about that, did I.’

‘I’ve a fair idea of what it entails,’ Hawke said. 'I did find this ancient red lyrium statue thing in the Deep Roads, you know. Statues. Why is it always bloody statues? Although I suppose there are crystals popping up all over the shop now. Not to mention some giant red sword that a certain Knight-Commander misplaced--'

‘I mean, about how I stopped taking it. Stop making fun of me.’

‘I know,’ Hawke said. ‘And I will never, ever stop making fun of you. You don’t want me to. You need it. You’re so uptight. You'll get constipated. I talked to this elf girl, the one with a bow--’

‘You knew? That I was quitting? You never said anything.’

Hawke smiled, and in her smile there was pride. Faith in him, hard-earned and long desired. ‘You were fine,’ she said. ‘You didn’t need me.’

‘I always thought, from the very start, that if you'd known what was really going on in my head you would never have wanted to be with me in any capacity,’ Cullen said. He saw Hawke wince at the conviction in his voice.

‘I do,’ she said, stroking the side of his face.

He gazed into her eyes. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘And you should know I’m never going to let you go now. At least, not for long.’

'Besides,' he murmured, shifting himself on top of her, 'you know what they say.'

'What do they say?'

'Once more for luck.'

Hawke raised an eyebrow.

'Er, that is, if you want...'

She pulled him down. 'Oppress me once more, Knight-Captain.'

'This time,' he murmured, brushing his lips against the salt of her throat, 'my way.'

First he kissed her low down, buried in the crook of her thighs, reducing her to a heap of moans, bringing her to a shuddering climax as he explored the mysteries of her body. No pain, only beauty.

He found her wet and ready, and he slid into her slowly, kissing her, running his hands over her body. He didn't want to take her the way he'd taken her before, desperate with mutual passion. He wanted to make love to her, to look into her eyes and memorize her face before she left. He paused for a moment, their eyes meeting in stepped saccades, pupils tracing a timeless dance of invisible circles.

Hawke ruined the moment with a filthy wink. 'Your sword is very mighty,' she said. 'I've waited years to play with it. Maybe I'll try, oh, I don't know, shaving with it.'

'Oh, Hawke,' he sighed, and very soon she wasn't talking anymore.

 

***

 

‘That was as many times tonight as years that we stupidly went without having unbridled, disgusting, dirty, unholy apostate-oppressor sex.’ Hawke prodded him in the ribs. ‘I will miss you, you filthy oppressor.'

'I can't even think about that,' Cullen said. 'I think I might go insane.'

'Don't worry. I'll find you. Varric will be able to get in touch with me. I'll be using his network of dead drops along the way.'

'I'm slightly disturbed he has influence all the way up in the Anderfels. But glad for it nonetheless.'

Hawke's stomach rumbled. He laughed and then sighed. 'That's our moment gone.'

'There will be more,' she said.

‘You said you didn’t believe in happy endings.’

‘You know, you should stop remembering everything I say. Besides, look at all the stuff I’ve killed over the years. Did you not get my reports? What are a bunch of asshat wardens going to do?’

'What if darkspawn find you?'

'Then I'll kill them.'

'And if it's a horde of darkspawn?'

'Then I'll kill a lot of them. I could become the Champion of Weisshaupt. Really get under Bethany's skin.'

He smiled and gave up. 'After this is all over... I'm not sure what I'll be able to do next. I have no title. I'm just a commoner. You're...'

'I'm stinking rich. Filthy with money,' Hawke said. 'You can just be my manservant. Hunk of sexy man flesh? Perhaps ‘bodyguard’ sounds more dashing.'

'I would be that for you regardless,' he said. 'Though I scarcely think you need one. The Arishok. Five times. Remember? Or did you mean something else? Perhaps we should do it again, just so I can say I beat him.’

'Surprisingly disgusting, Commander.' She pinched his cheek again, playfully. 'What are you going to do without all that paper?'

He felt the energy rush through him again at her touch, invigorating, healing. Oh, gods. He _was_ going to die. Which page had he bookmarked? He had made a list of... Oh, bugger the bloody book.

'I think,' Cullen said, tracing the curve of her eyebrows, 'I'll be fine for a while.'

'How will you cope without things to  _order_?'

'Nothing wrong with being organized,' he said, making a face at her. 'It's good to be prepared.'

‘War never ends,’ she said, her voice wistful. ‘It just… moves around, shifts to a different region, infects different ideologies, convinces kings and emperors.’

She leaned her forehead against his. ‘Blessed are the peacekeepers,’ she said. ‘You were one, after all.’

‘The champions of the just,’ he murmured, brushing his hand against her cheek as he slid into her, and soon they were lost in each other, lost in rhythms older than time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hawke's favourite things:  
> \--screwing with cullen  
> \--screwing cullen


	4. tumbling down the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen was in hell.

Having arrived slightly later than usual for the morning meal, hardly anyone was still at mess, and Cullen was glad for it. Everyone seemed to be giving them furtive glances, no doubt because he was holding Hawke's hand in his own. Somehow he didn't care as much as he might have normally.

He was not glad to have to bid her goodbye, but her confidence set his heart a little more at ease, even though loss knotted deeper in him the nearer they got to the stables.

'It's just riding,' Hawke said. 'What could possibly go wrong?'

'Don't,' he said softly, reaching out to catch and kiss her. He helped her up onto her steed.

‘You’re really taking that?’ he asked, looking skeptically at the… thing she sat on.

‘Nuggalope shits too much,’ she said, waving a hand. ‘What’s wrong with this one? It makes a noise most fearsome.’

‘Someone is going to think you’re darkspawn and shoot you.’ He joked, but he worried.

Hawke patted the mane of the shrivelled, leathery horse-thing Dennet called the bog unicorn. The old stablemaster had seemed uncharacteristically happy to offer it to her. ‘He’s fine. No-one’s going to be stupid enough to steal him. What is it they say? Don’t go judging a horse by its saddle.’

‘Trust me, I’m  _not._ ’

‘Welllll,’ Hawke said. ‘I hate goodbyes. Long ones, even more so. Besides, I’ll see you again.’

He caught her arm. ‘Come back to me,’ he said sadly, pressing his lips against her skin. ‘Hawke, I…’ He reached for her hand, fiddled in his pocket.

‘Will you wait for me?’ she asked. There was a weight to her words, despite the lightness of her voice.

‘Always,’ he whispered.

She bent down and smoothed his unruly hair down, whispered three words in his ear, kissed him and bit his lip. He felt her fingers brush his neck, fussing. Then she was off and away, before Cullen could react. She paused at the gates and turned back to him, her hand raised in farewell, a last kiss tumbling down the wind.

Cullen suddenly remembered what he had planned to do, instead of standing there slack-jawed and stupid.

‘Wait!’ he shouted, running after her, waving desperately, first with one arm, then both. ‘Hawke!’

Perhaps she thought he was merely waving goodbye. Perhaps he was just too slow. Her shoulders dipped as she kicked her horse into a gallop, leaving him standing there, feeling completely foolish, heart beating fit to burst. He closed his fingers around the thing in his pocket, warmed by his hand, and put his other hand to his head.

People were staring. It was humiliating. Commander of the Inquisition, yelling and flapping his arms like a chicken.

Andraste’s tits. Andraste’s  _tits_.

 

***                                          

 

He was waylaid by Bull and Dorian on the way back to the keep proper. 

‘Holy shit,’ Bull said. ‘You do not do things by halves, Cullen.’

‘I don’t, er, know what you’re talking about.’

‘You’re a horrible, horrible liar.’

The line of Dorian’s mouth curved up into a slow, satisfied smile. ‘We heard your screams all the way down in the courtyard. Last night.’

‘Oh, Maker.’ Cullen wanted to die. He wanted to run to the battlements and throw himself to the mercy of the sands.

‘I figured she was a screamer,’ Bull said thoughtfully. ‘Didn’t know you’d turn out to be one too.’

‘Is your judgement impaired? Look at the man,’ Dorian said, disgusted, then turned his attention to Cullen. 'We caught a hold of Hawke as she was heading off to the privy earlier. You certainly put a bit of a swagger in her step. What was it she said? Ah, yes. She said she'd never 'felt so much of a commander' before.'

‘I’m leaving!’

‘Where to?’

‘Anywhere that isn’t here,’ the Commander said, aggrieved. ‘Away from everyone. Forever.’

‘Hold up,’ Bull said. ‘What were you doing back there, anyway? That running around flapping thing.’

‘Ugh! Nothing!’

The giant Qunari stood up and put a thick arm around him. ‘Can’t let you go until you share some brotherly secrets, Cullen. What’s that you’ve got in your pocket?’

‘Nothing!’

Dorian sidled a hand into the pocket in question, while Bull squeezed Cullen’s arms to his sides mock-affectionately so he couldn't struggle. ‘Aww, c’mere, you fluffy little thing,’ Bull said, while the Commander sputtered. ‘You’re such a doll. Look at that. The feathers make you feel so good.’

‘Oh,’ Dorian said, holding up something small and round.

Bull let go of Cullen and reached out to take it. ‘Ooh! That’s a pretty ring. Assuming you think steel is pretty, that is. Looks to be about the size of a Champion’s finger.’

‘That… was you trying to propose? You actually screwed up your proposal?’ asked Dorian. ‘This is remarkably inept, even for you.’

‘Would you give the blasted thing back,’ Cullen growled.

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Bull. ‘I mean, why didn’t you just give her the ring after the second time you had sex? Or in-between the third and whatever it was you were doing after that that sounded intriguing? Did you just forget?’

‘Virgins,’ Dorian said, shaking his head sadly.

Cullen sputtered again. ‘I’m not... I never said... Why does everyone think...'

‘Well, you certainly aren’t now,’ Bull snorted. ‘Scout Harding gave you 4, 8, 7 and 9 for your aural efforts before she finally fell asleep. I would have given you a solid three.’

‘Oh, do give the man his ring back before he blows a vessel in his brain,’ Dorian said.

‘I’m leaving!’

‘ _Maker’s breath_ ,’ Dorian added in a voice that somehow managed to be both piercing and breathy, as Cullen fled.

The walk back to his room was decidedly unpleasant. He almost considered running back to the stables and riding the accursed nug back to Skyhold.

Maker, everyone was smiling at him and suddenly hiding their smiles and trying to look serious whenever he caught their eyes. He had run into the Inquisitor, who had looked at him and blushed suddenly, and dashed off somewhere.

What the hell had he said? What the hell… Had he screamed? What the hell had he  _screamed_?

Cassandra turned and caught sight of him from where she was talking to Leliana and Josephine.

Maker have mercy, Cassandra was grinning.

Leliana made a little curtsey when she turned around and saw him. She smiled too. 'Did you have a relaxing evening, Commander?'

Josephine giggled suddenly and put her hand over her mouth. 'A relaxing morning too, I hope?'

Cullen was in hell.

'It was fine!' he managed. 'I need to calibrate something. Anything. Trebuchets, one of the men mentioned trebuchets.'

The three women watched him walk off.

'Didn’t he disassemble them? They are not still out, are they?' asked Josephine.

'No,' Cassandra said.

'For our dear Commander to lose track of his beloved siege weapons is quite remarkable,' Leliana remarked.

'Truly,' Josephine said, having regained control of herself. 'He must have found something else he likes calibrating more,’ she said, and the morning air was replete with laughter.

'And,' Leliana added, 'at least he's finally stopped talking about the Warden.'

'He what?' Cassandra sputtered. 'You've been keeping secrets from me?'

'Oh, well. I shouldn't say too much. After all, only a few people know. Nobody important. Only the Warden, Sten, Wynne, Zevran, Morrigan, King Alistair Theirin, and Ohgren, who got very drunk and told everybody else.'

'Please, Leliana. Start from the beginning.' Josephine drew closer and smiled sweetly.

 


	5. sometimes we fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian just laughed. Then he laughed harder, until the pieces on the board shook and Cullen’s careful lines tumbled into disarray.

**SKYHOLD**

 

'How is it nobody bothers Hawke about this?' Cullen asked, aggrieved, arranging his pieces into their proper appointed places, centering them so they formed tidy little lines. He had just about recovered from the horrors of Adamant, in many, many ways.

'Don’t be silly. She's like Cassandra. Everyone's a little scared of them,' Dorian said.

‘Are you insinuating they're not scared of me?'

Dorian just laughed. Then he laughed harder, until the pieces on the board shook and Cullen’s careful lines tumbled into disarray. ‘Oh, you  _are_  precious, Commander. You're a big old teddy bear. Stuffed with sugar, candy and cookies. You’re a giant, fluffy, gooey, gushing, blushing, adorable old crumpet. Oh, I do like it when you sputter.'

The Commander in question was speechless.

‘So?’ he continued. ‘How was it?’

‘I don’t… know what you…’

‘Oh for the love of. You can stop that simpering smiling now, Commander. How I regret asking. By Andraste's bloody knickers, wipe that dreamy gaze off your face, it’s absolutely revolting.’

'Put your pieces back on the board right now, so I can be rid of them.'

'You would bully a friend?'

'If this is what friendship is, I'm not sure I've been missing out.'

‘Commander! You wound me.’

‘Why do you always insist on calling me that?’

‘Because you’re so commanding.’ Dorian flapped his arms. ‘Hawke... Haaaaawke!’

‘Why  _do_  I bother?’

 

**SOMETIMES WE FLY**

 

Cullen walked Skyhold the night Corypheus fell.

He raised his hand to his neck and touched what hung there, the small secret thing Hawke had fastened about his neck before riding away. He had been so overwrought that day that it had only been much later, sitting in his room after he'd escaped the torments of his compatriots, that he’d noticed the press of metal against his skin.

It hung there still, a tiny glass vial enrobed in silverite, strangely warm against his neck, bearing a tiny red sample of blood. Cullen was glad it had stayed hidden during his humiliations. He closed his fingers around it, took his comfort from the slow pulse of it, felt the faint flutter of her heart.

The hall resounded with laughter. The Inquisitor had vanished somewhere, seemingly buried under a surge of rowdy well-wishers. Cullen smiled, but his attention was elsewhere. Somewhere far, on the lift of a wing, feathers dipping to swivel and soar.

Before he knew it, his feet had taken him to where Bull was laughing.

‘Cullen!’ Bull said with a wave. Another person Cullen had come to call friend. More, really. A comrade. A brother. Like the rest of them, even Varric, for all his pokes and prods. Cassandra and Leliana, Josephine. Sisters. Dorian. Krem. Cole. Brothers.

He was pulling Bull away from the table, hearing the words tumble out of his mouth.

‘You’re what?’ Bull asked, his eyes suddenly sharp. Not half as drunk as he ever pretended to be.

‘I’m going to find her,’ Cullen said simply. ‘I have to. But Bull, I want you to – that is, if you want to – to take my place.’

‘You’re making me Commander?’

‘Nobody better,’ Cullen said.

‘I’m…’ Bull fell silent. ‘I’m honoured.’ This time his flippancy, so like Hawke’s, was gone. He pressed his fist to Cullen’s forehead. ‘Cullen. Brother. Come back, won’t you? Or at least send a bird. Heh. Not the loud, scary apostate one.’

‘Maker knows I will,’ Cullen said. He found himself smiling. ‘And you can have that blasted lion’s head helmet. Tell Josephine I couldn’t really see out of it too well. And the cat jokes became rather tedious.’

‘It wouldn’t even fit over my dick,’ Bull snorted. ‘Well, if anyone asks where you went, I’ll tell them you’re bawling in the shitter after eating all the cake.’

‘I sometimes think I’ll miss you, Bull, but I’m not always sure,’ Cullen said. He reached out to shake his friend’s hand.

‘Alright,’ Bull said. ‘Go away now. Tears ruin the taste of maraas-lok, so bugger off already. And by the way, first thing I’m going to do is fix your fucking roof. Dorian bitches even more when he’s cold.’

There was that awkward moment at the end of a farewell when Cullen didn’t quite know what to do or how to say what he wanted to, so he was relieved when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Bull gave him a final look, raised his mug in a farewell salute and turned away.

'Curly.' Varric appeared at his side, shifting his weight from foot to foot. 'So you're going after Hawke.'

'I am,' Cullen said. Saying it made it feel suddenly real. The old tension in his chest throbbed for a second, but he willed himself into stillness. Just breathe and go on, breath after breath.

'I would go, but something tells me you should just go on your own. Especially after all that godsdamned noise you made at Adamant. Threw up in my own mouth a good five times. But look out for her, won't you? She's not very good at taking care of herself. Good at killing stuff, yes. Remembering to eat three meals a day? Not so much. You leave her alone for a week, ask her what she’s been eating, it’s all nug, nug, nug, nug, nug, Maker-shitting nug on a stick.'

The dwarf scratched his head awkwardly. 'Ahh, just tell her I said hi. And give her this. She forgot to grab it from me. You’re probably the safest courier I could hire. More importantly, you’re free.'

The dwarf pulled out a heavy pouch that clinked like gold, and dropped it in Cullen’s hand.

'For a moment there I thought you were going to offer me a copy of  _Lowlifes in Lowtown_ ,' Cullen said, tucking it away.

'Oh, I will, the moment it’s rewritten. I’ve got a couple of new heroes in mind. A bumbling, wanton Viscountess, a prissy Knight-Commander who just can’t get his hair under control…’

‘“And I’ve got one giant cherry of a ‘Don’t’ sign for you, dwarf,” the put-upon, patient, well-intentioned Commander said. Did I mention how dashing he was? Half the court of Orlais couldn’t keep their hands off his majestic derriere.’ Cullen smiled at Varric for possibly the first time since he’d met the dwarf in Kirkwall, almost a decade ago.

‘“I’ve got a giant  _cherry_ of a ‘V’ sign for you, Commander,” the downtrodden, underappreciated dwarf retorted. “Or I did. Seems somebody broke it.”’

Cullen snorted.

‘You know, the Viscountess was a terrible influence on the Knight-Commander,’ the dwarf said. ‘She coerced him into developing a “sense of humor”. It was a pity he didn’t always quite know where to shove it.’

Varric paused. 'Mind you, she did say something about the stiff-up-her-lips of command. I think she likes you. When she finds her sister and you show up... I think Bethany’s going to shit a brick.'

Cullen, to his credit, only groaned a little.

The dwarf extended a hand. ‘Just when she’d finally loosened you up a bit. Anyway, you’ll have to be nice to me now, you know.’

‘I’m always nice. But why in particular should I be?’

‘I know. It’s revolting. You remind me of Sebastian. Maybe slightly less annoying.’

Cullen glowered.

‘Oh, put that face away. I was just kidding. Just think about who’s going to write all of this down for posterity.’

‘I can’t think which I find more terrifying. Riding off into the black void of Weisshaupt, bashing my way through darkspawn and demons, or you with a quill in your hand. Stop giving me that look!’

‘What look, Curly?’

‘That thoughtful look that creeps onto your face when you’re taking note of something for later misuse.’

‘Shit, when’d I get so transparent?’ Varric passed his hand over his brow and sighed dramatically. ‘Who’re we going to victimize at Wicked Grace? Who's going to nut hapless recruits in the balls? You’d better get her back here safely, Curly. I didn't pay off the Gallows with lyrium for years for nothing.'

Cullen shook Varric’s hand warmly, and chose to ignore the last sentence for his own sanity. ‘It’s probably going to be the other way around.’

‘I know. I just didn’t want you to feel  _too_  impotent. Oh, and I know they don’t pay you much, but try not to steal  _all_  the gold.’

The dwarf paused. 'How are you going to find her, anyway? I haven't heard from her in a while. Not lying this time.'

In answer, Cullen drew the phylactery from where he kept it, tucked securely behind his gorget. It caught the torchlight.

For once, he had the pleasure of seeing Varric Tethras absolutely speechless.

 

**THE DIVINE**

 

Finally, Cassandra.

He had already spoken to her about his change of command. He would have asked her to take his place, but things would soon be slightly different for her.

She was standing on her own at the back of the hall, looking up at the stained glass windows, her face serious as ever. Illuminated by candlelight, by the flickering flames hanging from the ceiling, he saw something in her that he recognised all too well. The seed of something that had begun to grow. Belief, not in strictures and rules, but the hardest, most rigorous kind of all.

In the self. In what was right, even though it stood against faith once misguided. In the small things that bloom, carefully pruned.

‘Cassandra,’ he said. ‘Or I should say, Divine.’

She turned to him. ‘Commander.’ Her smile was warm. ‘I suppose this is farewell.’

‘I have to bring her back, don’t I? You never did get her to sign your book. The one with the giant sword-shaped hole through it.’

She laughed out loud, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and punched him lightly. ‘How do you feel about being with a living legend, Cullen?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘How do you feel about being one?’

‘Clearly it hasn’t sunk in yet. I think I’m still allowed to read Varric’s books. If not, there will be a new Rule. Possibly an Exalted March.’

‘I wanted to thank you for your faith in me,’ he said.

‘That wasn’t so hard, Commander.’ She squeezed his shoulder.

‘Oh,’ she added. ‘If you’re feeling grateful, I really wouldn’t mind the Champion’s autograph.’

‘I’ll see what I can do about that,’ Cullen said with a laugh. ‘Perhaps I’ll get her to write you a declaration of eternal love. She would, you know. Seeker... are you blushing?’

‘I should have left you in Kirkwall.’

Cassandra gave him an unexpected hug. After his initial surprise, he squeezed her back. They had spent so much time together that he knew her better than his own sisters.

‘Oh, Cullen?’

‘Yes?’

‘I heard something about a ring?’

‘How in the… Does  _everybody_  know everything about my private life? Do you all sit around gossiping about me when I’m not…’

‘If I hear you’ve asked anyone else to marry the pair of you, I  _will_  raise that Exalted March.’

‘What? But…’

‘Get out, Commander,’ she said with a grin, and he obeyed. She was the Divine, after all. He turned back to look at her one last time, her face upturned to the light again. Smiling. At peace. In bloom.

 

***

 

Cullen slipped from the hall. He went to his room. There was hardly anything in his room that wasn’t really the property of the Inquisition. Papers, letters, documents, things with horribly-complicated seals. A thousand demands that never went away. Demands for the Qun.

Maker, but Bull was going to love that. The smile was still on his face. At some point it had turned into a grin. He let it stay. Throwing his satchel over his shoulder, he stopped by the stables and readied his horse.

The night was illuminated by the bright moon. The sounds of revelry drifted over Skyhold’s courtyard. A light was on in the Inquisitor’s room. Cullen stayed for a moment, looking up, reflecting on how quickly a life could change, just by picking up a thing you hadn’t intended to. Yet it was what you did afterwards that made you.

A few steps, and he was outside the hold’s gate, his men bowing to him one final time. Their names blazed across his eyes. He knew them. Every single one. A living memorial for all of the brave souls who had fallen into trenches, under the drumming beat of hooves and the strange shrill cry of darkspawn.

The world stretched out in front of him, the Hinterlands rolling into the horizon, beyond that the wilds of Ferelden. Somewhere to the North, the dark roads that led to the decay of Weisshaupt, the crumbling borders of the Tevinter Imperium. A woman on those roads, searching for her sister. Someone who had stared into the darkest recesses of his heart and accepted him for all that he was. Waiting for a chance at a dream.

Something in his heart leapt. He nudged his horse with the heels of his boots, and suddenly he was away.

For the first time, he flew.

 

 

 

**Epilogue**

 

'Hawke,' came the voice again. She blinked. Not the chill wind mocking her, then. A human voice, out here in the dark silence of the ancient fortress. Tired, worried, familiar.

Daring to dream, she opened the door from which her firelight streamed forth, illuminating the darkness. And there he stood, the light catching the vial that lay on his breastplate. A glimmer.

There was a stillness in the room. The sound of her own heart, slowing.

He had her hand in his, strong fingers slipping something round and delicate over one of her own, palm closing over hers. His hand was warm.

‘Hawke,’ he said, and his arms went up to hold her. She turned the slender band around her finger, wondering. His lips were by her ear. He said her name. Her real name.

The questions were in his eyes, wide and filled with hope.

And Hawke said, ‘Yes.’

 


	6. epilogue the second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just... something small and happy. The next epilogue is probably the best thing in this entire series.

On a cold day in autumn, Cullen Rutherford's ship sailed back to Kirkwall. The statues were still twisted and ugly, the gargoyles as forbidding as ever -- but his heart was strangely light.

She was waiting for him at the docks, leaning against her own statue.

Cullen swept her up into his arms and kissed her before she could say anything, and the Champion of Kirkwall kissed him back rather passionately.

After a while, he released her to draw a breath, and realized people were eyeing them, some clapping, some sending wolf-whistles his way.

Someone shouted, 'About bloody time,' and Cullen blushed while Hawke ate up the attention and waved like the Queen of Ferelden.

'Another one?' Hawke asked when she grew tired of her sport, pointing at the mabari he'd brought on the long journey home. 'How many dogs do we need? And how, in the very heart of Orlais, did you find a mabari?'

'I wrote you about him.'

'Did not.' She bent down and rubbed the hound's ears affectionately. 'I'm naming him.'

'But I already...'

''Young Knight-Captain',' Hawke announced. 'Or perhaps 'The Commander'.'

He didn't bother arguing. He kissed her again, even though people were all around them.

'I missed you,' Hawke said, her hands running through his hair.

'I missed you too,' he said softly, taking her hands and pressing them in his.

She smiled, her eyes infused with delight.

'Come home,' she said, and he did.

 

 

**SOMEWHERE**

 

In the tiny port where she docked, the waters are warm, the wind is warm, the sun is warm. She still feels cold even as she slips out from under the nameless arm draped across her, adjusts her headscarf and makes her way downstairs to the little tavern's dining room.

Wandering has benefits. No ties to bind, no strings to pull. No guilt, no cares. And yet Isabela misses that little band she was once part of, a little family held together by _her,_ in Kirkwall.

There is a message for her. It's one of Varric's secret places, after all.

She knows the handwriting. It's legendarily awful. Her heart thrills, and aches. The ink seems a little blur. How odd.

 _Isabela,_ she reads. _I owe you._

_H_

_..._

_..._

_...Bugger Cullen says I have to write something else. He says 'tell your pirate friend her instructions were rather handy, would you?'_

_He says I have to keep writing. He's a giant pain in the..._

_He says I have to write what he tells me to, which is apparently what he thinks he knows what I want to say. Bugger him._

_He says if I keep writing that he'll tie me up and spank me later._

_Bugger Cullen, bugger Cullen, bugger..._

_He says if I keep writing that he won't do it._

_Dear Isabela. I miss you. Come home sometime._

She looks up at the blue sky and the white clouds and the blazing sun and laughs. And the warmth creeps into her heart, just a little around the edges.

Kirkwall is only an ocean away, and she has sails, and the good wind behind her.

She'll write tomorrow.

She'll sail when she's ready.


	7. superepilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Varric's been writing again? Shouldn't he be busy Viscounting or whatever it is he's supposed to be doing?'

Cullen Rutherford returned to the sprawling rooms of the Amell estate in Hightown, gardening supplies in tow. He found the love of his life sitting on her favourite bench by the edge of the flowerbeds, wineglass abandoned on the chess table beside her, reading what the Divine herself had termed  _smutty literature_.

Hawke was so engrossed in her book that she didn't look up.

One of Varric's, by the style, but a cover he hadn't seen before. He could just about make out the image from under Hawke's fingers. Heaving breasts, huge muscles. A man naked but for a large, conveniently-positioned sword.

'Varric's been writing again? Shouldn't he be busy Viscounting or whatever it is he's supposed to be doing?'

She glanced up at him and cackled. 'Oh, just in time.'

'For what?' He kissed her chortling mouth.

'Your appearance within these hallowed pages.'

'Ugh,' Cullen said, just as Hawke began to laugh again. He had been featured in Varric’s pulp before, mostly filling the role of Grumpy Pompous Templar. Most recently he had started to appear as a suspiciously towheaded butler, stuttering and blushing everytime his mistress walked past. Varric usually spent a paragraph making fun of his hair. Cullen had resolved privately never to tell Varric part of his dependence on hair pomade had stemmed from a twenty-line description of ‘The Young Knight-Captain’ and his ‘monkey puzzle hair’ in the  _Tale of the Champion_. The paragraph about ‘agglutinated Antivan pasta’ had been the final straw.

'I'm in this, too. As Ariane Falcone, Champion of Prickhall. Pissed off and angry at the Sinquisition because they killed a bloody archdemon while she was doing important things in Weisshaupt. Honestly. Sending me to dick around in Dickwood when they knew there was a... not just any archdemon, Corypheus's damned own pet red lyrium archdemon dragon and I  _wasn't invited_.'

Cullen raised an eyebrow. He knew better than to encourage her down that train of thought. He had long ago figured out why she was obsessed with the idea of killing one, even if she still refused to admit it. He had tried to console her with words like 'it wasn't  _really_  an archdemon', 'the Warden had a lot of help' and 'I'm sure the Hero only managed to do it because she had special Warden powers from the Joining, and some ghastly dark ritual Morrigan performed', and had quickly discovered that those statements only infuriated her all the more.

Most of all 'at least you were able to see it at Adamant'. That was right up there with 'I'm sure you could turn into a dragon if you put your mind to it.' Hawke had been upset on hearing news of Flemeth's passing, for reasons Cullen suspected were completely malappropriate.

He had resolved never to tell her that Morrigan had actually managed to do such a thing while battling the red lyrium monstrosity in the skies above Skyhold.

Ever.

Having grown in wisdom over the years, he changed the subject with a self-sacrificial air. Hawke was easily distracted by any opportunity to poke fun at him.

'What am I? Am I the butler again? Do I want to know?' He looked at the cover again, and a horrible suspicion began to creep over him. The woman was dark-haired, her hair cropped short, and the man with the... strategic... sword... was blond, with ridiculously curly hair.

No.  _No_.

Hawke started laughing even louder. 'You... You're Sullen Cutherford, Commander of the Sinquisition, a burlesque troupe stationed in Prickhall. And you just let  _Sin_ eschal Brown touch you, for fifty silver.'

' _What?'_

'In this chapter you're wearing...'

Cullen snatched the book out of her hands.

'Maker's b... I...  _thong.... clamps....._ By the gods...  _black leather_.  _Tiny... vestigial..._ I'll...  _Where's Varric?!_ '

Hawke was rolling around on her bench, clutching her stomach in mirth. 'This is his best work yet.'

'You're  _not_  helping.'

'You were about to dance for the Champion,' she said, her expression suddenly sly. 'Without most of your clothing. The Champion approves. The Champion of Kirkwall thinks the Commander of the Sinquisition should make good his promises.'

'No!'

'Well, you don't have to wear the thong if it makes you feel that awkward.' She was already undoing his laces.

'We're outside!'

'Nobody will see us from here.'

'There are windows all around us!' The Amell estate's garden was secluded, true, but there were other mansions around.

'If they say anything I kill them,' Hawke said with a shrug, and slid his breeches down. 'I've been telling you for years, you need to relax.' Her hand slipped between his legs. 'I  _told_  you you would get constipated.'

'Aaah!'

She took the book out of his hand. 'Let's see what comes next. I think it's me, but I could be wrong. ' _The Commander, hair slick with pomade as thick as his vanity, knelt down before the Champion and applied his lascivious, whorishly-pouting lips to her...''_

Cullen snatched the book back. 'Sweet Maker!' But her hand began to move again, in slow, steady strokes. 'Andraste's...'

'Oh, come  _on,_ ' Hawke said. 'Read me the rest of the chapter.' She was practically purring. 'Or I'll stop.'

Cullen was reading the rest of the chapter, but not aloud. He  _couldn't_. It was... worse than the Ferelden Circle.

The book was real.

 _The book was real._ He turned to the back cover.

_The book was part of a multiple-volume set._

'I'll kill him,' he repeated. 'I'll... I'll talk to Seneschal Bran, and we... we’ll kill him together.'

'Blah, blah, blah,' Hawke said, and when he looked over at her he realised she had taken off all her clothes. She had an amazing knack for doing so. ‘That’s not what happens in the book. In the book, you and he—‘

There were two ways to shut up the Champion of Kirkwall. One was to outwait her until she tired of her own wit, a solution that could, regrettably, take hours. The other... well.

He threw the offending book against the garden wall where the roses were blooming, and bent to do what Sullen Cutherford had been doing to the Champion of Prickhall, and despite wanting to break Varric Tethras's writing hand for good...

He was, finally, happy.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about adding some more cawke adventures, but to be honest I'm really not sure where they could go at this point (what could I possibly write about when there's no more angst?! :) ). suggestions on a postcard, I'd like to eventually add more stuff to the Little Pieces of Kirkwall 'cawke dump'.
> 
> LPoK:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6711196
> 
> thanks, seriously, for sticking with this tale :) kudos and comments, as always, are all really appreciated and adored.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a romance before, so it was a nervewracking endeavour. I just wanted to thank everyone for reading and commenting and keeping me alive basically with kudos and love. As always, kudos and comments (even if it is just to squee about Cullen haha) are greatly appreciated!


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